


Broken Vows

by Liaegypt



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaegypt/pseuds/Liaegypt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it take to corrupt an Ordinator? Though all he wants is to devote himself to the Temple's service, Sul Daerys finds that the gods have other plans for him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the fourth man I killed that truly started all my troubles.

One might suppose, logically enough, that trouble would have begun with the _first_ man to die at my hands. In a sense, that would be true. The shadowy touch of Mephala's dubious blessing came to me with that first death, though at the time I did not recognize it, did not understand. But if that fourth man had not died when and where he did, all that followed afterward would not have fallen out as I am about to relate.

The first death, the first blood I spilled, occurred soon after I had been inducted into the Order of the Watch. It seems long ago, now that I look back upon it. I was young then, scarcely across the threshold of adulthood, and not two weeks into my duties on the Watch, though the Three know I'd been training for it long enough. I was young, but not much younger than I am now.

The man was nearly twice my age, a pitiful Breton gone deathly pale from lack of sunlight. He'd crept up from the underworks in St. Olms that morning, his eyes wild and his movements erratic. I'd kept my eyes on him for nearly half an hour, watching him shuffle from door to door, begging for work, or a spare coin. Skooma addiction is not a crime in itself, of course, but addicts do tend to behave irrationally, and it was my duty to watch for potential threats.

When he tried to slip his shaky fingers into the Altmer's pockets, I was ready. He bolted for the staircase when his victim let out a shout, and I charged after him, ebony mace in hand.

He rounded a corner and I heard a door slam, out of sight, before I made it across the waistworks. As shouting erupted in the halls of the canton, I clattered down the stairs and burst through the door to the canals, taking the last five or so steps in one leap.

I could hear nothing but the rushing water; my fugitive was nowhere in sight. I trod the canalworks carefully, waiting for ambush, but found no trace of the Breton. As I'd suspected, he'd retreated to the safety of his shelter in the underworks. I let myself through the trapdoor and down the ladder, warily. I was too composed, too well controlled then, to make even the slightest grimace behind my mask, as I descended into the stench of St. Olms' sewers.

It was quieter there; the water, thick with offal, ran too sluggishly to make much noise. Small splashes echoed off the cavernous walls, likely caused by cave rats or other denizens of the underworks, though it was too dim for me to see clearly. I proceeded carefully, rounding several corners before the man rushed clumsily at me from the darkness, a length of wood clutched in his upraised hands. He swung wildly. I ducked and shouldered my pauldron into his chest, knocking him back against the wall. His makeshift weapon clattered to the ground, and he held a hand to his chest, wheezing; I'd knocked the breath from his lungs.

"You violated the law, Breton," I said, reciting the speech that is drilled into Ordinators’ heads so deeply, we sometimes speak it in our sleep. "Pay the fine that is due for your crimes, or come with me to serve your sentence of hard labor."

"I can't!" The addict shrieked, desperate. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but his eyes widened even further, until I thought they might simply drop out from their sockets. "I can't go! There's no skooma, don't make me go back there! It'll kill me!"

"Then pay your gold, citizen, and you shall be on your way," I said shortly, growing impatient and a bit disgusted by the man's dependency.

He let out a wild, high-pitched laugh, half-crazed. "Gold? Gold! Gods, if I had any coin, I would have spent it long ago! On skooma, sweet skooma, oh gods..." His words dissolved into unintelligible muttering, and his eyes glazed over as if he'd forgotten my presence.

"Very well," I said, reaching for his arm. "Then you must come with me-"

Quick as a Khajiit, he darted away from my grasp, making a stumbling dash for the safety of the deeper tunnels. And, quicker than thought, my arm moved, almost of its own accord. The spikes on my mace sank deep into his head before he'd taken two steps. He dropped to the ground, his skull crumpling as if the bone were no stronger than parchment.

I stared for a moment, watching the pool of blood spreading around his corpse, watching it ooze toward the canal and trickle into the water. I had let go of the mace and it stood on its own, the handle jutting upward from the back of his head. I had never taken a person's life before. A strange feeling crept over me; an emotion I could not name, but it felt like more than that, almost physical... as if it had wormed between my armor and settled in a thin film over my skin. I realized, much later, that it was Mephala's dark touch-- at that time, however, I could not have known.

My breach of protocol lasted only a few moments. Years of training roared back into control, and I jerked my weapon free of his ruined skull. I cleaned the blood and gore from it with the cloth I carried for such a purpose, and then grimly knelt to search the man for any identifying papers or objects. As I'd suspected, I found nothing more than an old pipe. Anything else would have been traded for skooma long ago.

I noted the body's location and returned to the waistworks of St. Olms. The other Ordinator patrolling there was a man named Rogis, someone I might have called a friend, if such familiarities were not discouraged among the ranks. I informed him of what had happened, and left him to cover my post while I made my report to Elam Andas.

Andas was the Chief of the Order of the Watch, a Curate of the Temple who had risen to his position by means that were perhaps less savory than one might expect of the devout. He made a better Chief of the Order than he did a priest, and kept the Watch running efficiently and effectively. I found him in his office in the Hall of Justice, and made my report. As standards dictated, he wrote down the location of the corpse, so that some men could be sent to dispose of the remains. I was dismissed, but as I made for the door, he spoke again.

"Your shift is nearly over, isn't it, Brother Sul?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, turning back to face him.

He shuffled some papers on his desk. "The others will handle the relief of your post. You are relieved early; I suggest you spend your extra time in the Temple."

His words surprised me, though they shouldn't have. Andas had many long years' experience on the Watch, and of course he knew that one's first killing would weigh heavily upon a young Ordinator.

"Aye, sir," I said quietly, and went to the Temple.

The Temple of the city of Vivec is a grander affair than most; the archways stretch into dimness far overhead, and it is kept sparkling clean. Incense burns near each shrine, filling the room with a heady smoke that masks the scent of the sacrificial burnt meat. The shrines of all the Saints are ensconced within. The Temple is devoted to worship of the Tribunal, of course, but custom dictates that the Three require no shrines of their own, being able to hear the prayers of the devout no matter where they originate. In front of each Saint's ancient pictograph are the prayer benches, polished to a glossy finish.

I passed the sacrificial pit and approached the shrine of St. Rilms. My knees fit easily into the grooves of the prayer bench, the same places eroded by the knees of countless other penitents.

 _Oh blessed Saint_ , I prayed silently, my eyes tracing the primitive but powerful lines of St. Rilms' portrait. _I have killed a man today, and though I was without fault, the life I took weighs heavily upon my conscience. Grant me your blessing, that your grace may help me to endure this hardship..._

I fell easily into the devout trance, meditating and praying for several hours. It was early evening when I arose, stiff from my immobility. As a sign of good faith, I knelt before each of the other shrines in turn, offering a brief prayer to each, before I left the Temple.

I felt no better when I made my way back to my barracks room, however. St. Rilms had not seen fit to bless me with her grace this time. Whether it was due to the hand that the Spider God had laid upon me earlier, or some other reason, I cannot say.

I had no appetite, and went to bed early, though I found I was unable to sleep. I lay awake in my bed, staring up at the ceiling of my modest room, seeing in my mind's eye the Breton falling at my feet, over and over. It frightened me, for an afternoon of meditation should have cleared my thoughts, wiped clean my concerns. And as I lay in the dark, alone, I could feel more acutely that strange, unseen touch on my skin. It was as if a noose had been wrapped about me and was drawing tighter in the darkness.

When I awoke in the morning, entirely unrested after a night of disturbing dreams, the sensation was gone.

\----

The second and third men I killed were rapists, or near enough. I found them outside the Plaza of the Foreign Quarter, drunk on their beverages of choice for the celebration of Harvest's End, just past midnight. One had their victim shoved against the wall; the Imperial was lucid enough to keep a hand clamped over her mouth from behind, but too drunk to manage his own clothing with his other hand. His Dunmer comrade stood to the side, holding a dagger to the girl's throat and encouraging his friend with slurred mutterings.

They were too engrossed to notice my approach. I imagine they must have been frightened when I fell upon them from the darkness. The drunken fools' reactions were slowed, making it easy for me to disarm the one with the dagger and kick his feet out from under him. He fell with a startled shout, and I turned to the other, wrenching his arm away from the woman. She turned and ran, while the Imperial swung at me. I caught his fist in my hand and twisted; he dropped to his knees, gasping.

The Dark Elf got to his feet and threw himself at my back, wrapping an arm around my throat, dragging me away from his friend. He had no chance of a successful choke hold through my armor, however; his weight on my back was little more than an inconvenience.

The sensible thing, of course, would have been to ignore him, subdue the Imperial whose wrist I held, and then turn to the Dunmer. But all knowledge of the sensible course of action had fled my thoughts.... instead, driven by some impulse I could not name, I let go the Imperial and drew my dagger. I thrust it backwards, feeling the resistance as it sank to the hilt in the Dunmer's torso. He let me go with a gurgling gasp, and my arm flashed forward, opening the Imperial's throat with a backhanded slash that spattered blood across the mask of my helm. He dropped to his knees, clutching at his neck, eyes wide in shock. I watched him die, saw the life leave his features as he toppled sideways.

Behind me, the Dunmer was taking longer to die; I could hear his breath rasping, slower and slower. I was frozen in place; that same sensation from before had returned, bringing the memory of the dead Breton back to me. It was guilt, yes, but only in part. There was also anger, and power, and a sort of joy.... and, somehow, the sense that it was a part of something bigger I had yet to understand.

The dead men's intended victim stirred me from my conflicted musings; she had returned when she saw them die. "I am in your debt, ser," she said, a little too loudly, approaching me unsteadily. She was nearly as drunk as the other two had been. Quite a lot of her pale flesh gleamed, exposed to the faint moonlight. The two louts had torn her dress, but there hadn't been much dress to begin with. It occurred to me for the first time to wonder at the circumstances leading up to their attack. It wouldn't have surprised me to learn she'd brought it upon herself.

She came up, too close, almost leaning against me. "...allow me to repay you," she added, in a voice that she might have intended to be seductive. She was an outlander, I realized.... anyone who'd been in Morrowind for long knew of the strict vows required of the Order.

I put my hands on her shoulders and guided her aside. "My lady," I said sternly. "Trading sexual acts for services or gold is a crime in Morrowind. I suggest you return to your night's lodging and remain there until your head clears, or I shall have to arrest you."

She wasn't too drunk to understand, thank Vivec. Her eyes widened in the exaggerated manner of the drunken, and she turned away quickly. "I'm going, I'm going..." she mumbled.

I let her go, which was another foolish mistake. I should have arrested her anyway, but the strange touch of Mephala was still on me, clouding my thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate. Instead, she made her unsteady way out of sight, and I stood between the two corpses, wondering what had come over me.

pressed to explain to Elam Andas why two men had died at my hands, when I should have been just as easily able to arrest them without much fuss. When I reported the conduct of the woman as well, and said that I'd let her go, it did nothing to help my case. In the end, it was determined that I had made a mistake; I was still young and new to the Order, and my punishment was not as severe as it might have been. The dead men were identified as known smugglers and outlaws with bounties on their heads, so there was little public outcry over their deaths. I was relieved of watch duty for two weeks without pay, and spent that time laboring in the scullery, when I was not on my knees in the Temple, praying for guidance.

During those two weeks, I was sickeningly aware of the feeling that still clung to me since that first night. It was worse when I was in bed; as before, the darkness seemed to make it clench tighter about me. In the daylight, it was like a film of oil that soaked me, making me feel unclean. No matter how much I bathed, nor applied scents until Rogis joked I must have bathed in the Temple censers, I could not rid myself of the sensation. It remained with me throughout my weeks of punishment, and finally faded, a little each day, when I was returned to my regular duties.

If things had ended there, or if the fourth man I killed had been someone else, in some other place at some other time, my life would never have taken the turn that it did. But Mephala's dark webs were already drawing tight around me, and my true troubles were about to begin. When the fourth man fell dead by my hand, that was when I met Amurah Llenith...


	2. Chapter 2

Even now, I remember the night I met the assassin. It was a cold evening in Frostfall, some weeks after I had been restored to my regular duties on the Watch. My orders that night sent me to the plaza of the Telvanni canton, and I had spent the majority of my shift reciting the Cantatas of Vivec in my head.

I had just begun the refrain of the chorus in the twenty-eighth stanza when a frightened cry rent the late-night quiet of the plaza. I charged toward the sound, and found a Redguard man standing outside the temporary housing building, shouting for help. When he saw me approach, he stepped away from the entrance, gesturing frantically. "In there, ser!" He said urgently. "The woman attacked-"

I shouldered past him, not waiting for the rest of his explanation. Inside, the single common room was crowded with bunks and tables; in the center of the room, among overturned chairs, lay a dead Telvanni Dunmer. Nearby, another was casting furious spells at a female who was backed against the wall in an attempt to avoid the magic. Some of the sorcerer's spells bounced off a flickering shield the woman had cast, but some were too strong for it, and sank into her flesh. Some sort of Alteration spells, I guessed; maybe Burden, by the way she seemed to stagger under an unseen weight. She had a glass dagger clutched in one hand, already bloody; from the dead man, I presumed. She was clearly no Telvanni, and had entered their dwelling to kill. I stepped forward to order the sorcerer to cease, so that I could arrest her.

The woman glanced up at me, a snarl on her face as she struggled against the sorcery. Her eyes were a deep, fiery crimson, and when they met mine, I felt as if I had been physically struck. There was something intangible between us, some connection I could not explain. Even now, I can only guess that it was a thread of Mephala's Web itself, drawing the two of us together. She was just as startled as I; her shield flickered out of existence, and in her moment of weakness, the Telvanni let out a shout of triumph and loosed a blast of flame at the woman. That unseen, inexplicable force took hold of me again, and my gauntleted fist shot out, dealing the sorcerer a blow that whipped his head around. The spell careened off to the side, evaporating harmlessly against the wall.

The Telvanni staggered and turned to glare at me, fury and confusion in his eyes, but my dagger was already planted in his abdomen, and his protestations died with him as he fell. The room was deathly silent, except for the Dunmer woman's shaky breathing. That darkness was clinging to me again, that sense of power and greatness and anger... but it was mostly my own anger. I fought it, this time, furiously. For the third time, it had compelled me to go against all I had been trained to do, and I refused to succumb to it.

I jerked my eyes away from the corpse and glared at the woman, all sense of connection forgotten. Before I could begin my recitation of the arrest lecture, she held out a rolled parchment with one hand, wiping her bloody dagger against her leg with the other. "I thank you, ser," she said, a cool professionalism in her voice. "Two of them at once was rather more than I was prepared to handle."

 _Assassins' Guild,_ I thought, reaching wordlessly to take the parchment.

_Idroso Vendu_

_Ethal Seloth_

_The afore-mentioned personages have been marked for honorable execution in accordance with the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong Guild. The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned license to kill the afore-mentioned personages._

Below the text, pressed into blood-red wax, was the official seal of the Morag Tong, a vaguely arachnoid tangle of lines that may have been weapons, or a creature with several heads, or something else.

"All your papers seem to be in order," I said, handing her back the Writ. "I’ll need your name for my report.” I pulled from my belt pouch a folded paper and a tiny inkwell and quill pen, setting it all on a nearby table. She waited silently until I glanced up at her, pen in hand.

“Amurah Llenith,” she said. “White Thrall of the Morag Tong.” I wrote it down, pen scratching softly, and then marked a few distinguishing details. Procedure requires us to record descriptions of all assassins in the city.

 _Dunmer female_ , I wrote. _Early twenties_. I glanced back at her, looking for details, noticing more than I should have. Her brown hair was held off her forehead by a black headband; it rose like an artfully messy crown. She was already tall enough to look me in the eye; the hair made her look even taller. She was slender, but muscled; her arms, between her cuirass and bracers, were lean and defined. She was armed to the teeth, with daggers of varied make and size strapped to her boots, her thighs, her waist, and even one upper arm. A faint scar tracked across the side of her cheek, and she was regarding me with an amused twist of her lips as I made my notations. _Tall. Short, brown hair. Netch leather armor. Scar on left cheek. Heavily armed._

“Very well,” I said, putting away my writing instruments. “You are free to go.”

She glanced around the room; it was empty, but for us. She took a step towards me, and I was suddenly glad that I was hidden behind the mask of my Indoril helm.

"You are one of _hers_ ," she said softly, wonder in her voice. "I knew it as soon as our eyes met. She's marked you, as surely as she has me."

Even then, I did not know who _she_ was, but Amurah's words struck an uncomfortable chord. Taking refuge in my identity, I said flatly, "I am an Ordinator. I am marked only by the Three, assassin."

She smirked at me. "Whatever you say, Ordinator," she said insolently. She was gone before I realized it, vanishing in a flash of light, leaving me alone with two dead Telvanni.

\----

As you might imagine, this incident was rather more difficult to explain to my superiors. It did not occur to me to falsify my report; my morals had not slipped so far, yet. I am ashamed to admit, however, that after my report was made, I began to wish I had bent the truth a bit.

I stood at attention in Elam Andas' office, my helm in hand, while he shuffled papers across his desk and raged at me with the quiet anger of a man determined to keep his temper, no matter how difficult it was. "Why does this keep happening, Brother Sul? Four men dead at your hand within the past three months; you have a higher kill rate than any other Brother on the Watch. Explain this to me, Sul-- Explain how it is that you have been on duty less than half a year, and have four deaths on your record. A Telvanni sorcerer, for Vivec's sake? Are you working for the Morag Tong, now? What came over you?"

I flinched inwardly, my stomach twisting at the accusation, even though I knew he only spoke in anger. "I acted as I thought best, sir," I said quietly. "There was an altercation taking place, the assassin's life was in danger, and I acted to save it."

A sheaf of papers crumpled in Andas' fist as he gritted his teeth. "You have your priorities backwards, Sul. The Morag Tong is a cult of blasphemous Daedra worshippers who commit legitimate murder for a living. I don't know what possesses the Emperor to allow their existence here, but the Temple only tolerates them as much as necessary. We _don't_ leap to their aid when they get themselves in over their heads with a citizen who can defend himself, you know that!"

I did know it, and there was nothing to say. What _could_ I say? That it was my fault she nearly was killed, because some unseen connection between the two of us distracted her, leaving her defenseless? I knew better than to lie directly to the Chief of the Watch; I also knew when to keep my mouth shut. When I said nothing, Andas sighed and snatched a paper from the pile, smoothing its wrinkles before writing out my new orders. I stood motionless, staring ahead, while the sound of the quill scratching filled the quiet room.

"Here," he said, his voice clipped, handing me the paper. "Get out of my sight, Sul, before I decide to make those orders permanent."

"Yes, sir," I said stiffly, and made my exit. Outside, I checked my orders. Two months without pay. Regular Watch duties suspended; I was to work a twelve-hour shift in the scullery each day, and stand watch on the scullery doors for a six-hour shift afterwards. Oh, and two hours daily meditation in the Temple, to "pray for guidance and strength in my duties". I rolled up the parchment and strode down the hall to report to the scullery.

\----

Those two months were not as bad as one might expect. The work was tedious and never-ending, but I threw myself into it, determined to prove that I was not going to be a further problem for the Order. There was little time for sleep, which left little time to contemplate that invisible noose that drew tighter each night. After the first week of my new routine, I was tired enough to fall into slumber as soon as my head met my pillow. My brothers in the Watch avoided me, as if my string of unwarranted kills were some contagious stigma.... All except Rogis, who sympathetically said it was only bad luck, and suggested I lay low when I returned to duty, letting others handle any trouble on the streets for a few months.

It was good advice, and I took it. When my punishment had passed, I was posted to the Arena. It was the off season for the fights, so the canton was nearly empty. For a month or so, it was quiet; when an incident or two occurred, I let the other Ordinators nearby take care of it. I stayed out of Elam Andas' notice, and things seemed to return to normal.

The Arena's dueling season began as the weather grew warmer and more spectators were willing to travel to the city. The first scheduled event of the season was an open tournament, in which anyone could compete. It was held during my shift, and by Vivec's grace, I was assigned to a post away from the pressing crowds. The Watch had been increased for the event, because the Arena was well-known for having fights also take place outside the pit, among drunken spectators. I was assigned to watch the eastern entrance, however, and had a good view of the pit, while staying behind the throngs of people. I watched, uninterested, as several short bouts were fought to warm up the crowd. The spectators grew more unruly as the first of the "real" fights was about to start.

Into the pit strode a well-known Nord champion, bearing a huge war-axe. From the other side entered his Redguard challenger, carrying an ebony longsword that should have been too heavy for him to lift at all. A tall shadow appeared suddenly at my side, murmuring, "Some show, eh?"

I managed not to betray my startlement, but it was a near thing. "Move along, citizen," I grated, pretending not to recognize Amurah. She chuckled and ghosted behind me to stand in the shadows on my right side, cloaked in some illusory spell that made her nearly impossible to see. Down in the pit, battle was joined, axe and sword meeting with a screech of metal.

"Nice try, Ordinator," she said near my ear, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. "I know you recognize me just as easily as I recognize you, mask or no mask. I've been looking for you." The two combatants in the pit seemed evenly matched; neither had landed a blow yet.

Resolutely, I pretended not to understand her. "Any member of the Watch will help a citizen if they are able. How can I be of service?" I had little hope that she only wanted directions to a good tavern, or some other mundane request.

She snorted. "No. You in particular. The Guild has a payment of five hundred gold that must be delivered to the man who performed the execution of Ethal Seloth. We didn't know your name, weren't sure how to find you."

The thought made my stomach twist in a mixture of fear and distaste, remembering Elam Andas' words, spoken weeks ago. _Are you working for the Morag Tong, now?_

"Keep it," I said. "The Temple has...already compensated me."

"Against Guild charter," she replied matter-of-factly. "Payment must be rendered to the Guild member, his or her estate, or to a representative charity." In the pit, the Redguard was pressing his advantage, forcing the slightly slower Nord back with quick, vicious slashes.

"Donate it to the Temple, then. I cannot take it."

"It will be done by nightfall," she said. The Nord had fought back; now the two combatants circled warily, making darting feints at each other. I ignored her, waiting for her to leave now that the business of my payment was settled. Instead, she said, "I've had my own reasons for finding you, as well. You are marked as _hers_ , and I've been instructed to bring you to her."

"I don't know who you mean," I said flatly, watching the Nord desperately fight off a flurry of attacks from his opponent.

I heard a smile in her voice, a smile that said I was an oblivious fool, and it amused her. "Mephala, of course."

I wanted to recoil in horror at the very idea that a false Daedric deity might have laid claim to me. Instead, I turned to glare at her. There was that same jolt when our eyes met, but I was ready for it this time. "I am not interested in your blasphemies, assassin."

Her smile widened. "No?" Her hand flashed up, skillful killer's fingers finding the gap between my pauldron and bracer, brushing her fingertips against my forearm. Her touch was like fire and ice at once; searing, passionate heat and the cold of the grave, all in that tiny area where skin met skin. I jerked away, startled, thinking she must have cast some spell, but the sensation disappeared as soon as I broke the contact. All amusement was gone from her expression as we looked at each other gravely.

"Don't you want to understand this? Why we are drawn to one another this way? I know I do."

I narrowed my eyes, staring at her, unsure what to say. She glanced down into the pit, where the Redguard knelt over the fallen Nord, blade against the blue-tattooed neck. "You can find me in the Canalworks, here, when your shift is over," she said, and she smiled again, a predatory grin. "Right now, I have a fight to prepare for." She faded away into the shadows and the crowd, leaving nothing but the burning-cold echo of that brief touch on my skin.

I felt sick. The idea that a Daedric goddess had been responsible for the strange occurrences in my life seemed as plausible as any other explanation, and it was not one I wanted to think about. Fortunately, a few rowdy Dunmer several rows away burst into a brawl, and I was preoccupied with breaking apart the fight. When the participants had been separated and the more inebriated of them led away, the next match was beginning in the pit.

I returned to my post in time to see the first contender enter, a golden-furred Khajiit who bounded into the pit with a smooth, controlled energy, armed only with his own claws. From the opposite side, a tall Dunmer woman strode in. I had not yet seen Amurah walk more than a few steps... now, watching her cross the ring, I was struck by the grace with which she moved. One might have believed she was half-Khajiit herself, the way she walked; keeping her center of balance level, nearly gliding across the sand, unhampered by her lightweight leather armor. Most of her numerous weapons had been left behind; she carried only a steel tanto, low and ready in her right hand.

I was thinking that Amurah Llenith was not someone I would want to face in battle, when the Khajiit made his move. He launched through the air, a golden blur with teeth, but Amurah was no longer there, having thrown herself aside. The feline shot past her, landing with a puff of dust and whirling with lightning speed to face her. He was more cautious this time, and she attacked first. They closed on each other in a whirlwind of leather and fur, the clash of steel against claws drowned out by the crowd's cheering. Their feet moved quickly, scuffing up sand and dust, obscuring the two of them. Coincidence, I wondered, or was it some trick of Amurah's? Sorcery was strictly forbidden in the official competitions.

A moment later, the cloud cleared, revealing the Khajiit slumped with Amurah's arm around his throat, his chin carefully lifted away from the point of her tanto. The crowd surged forward, shouting and cheering, exchanging money for wagers won and lost. Amurah let the Khajiit go, and thrust her blade up, grinning in triumph, playing the victorious champion. Her eyes met mine, though, and even at that distance, I felt that unmistakable connection, as if I was drawn to her. I watched her be led away to claim her prize, and wondered where I would find myself when my shift ended.


	3. Chapter 3

Against my better judgment, I left the Temple after reporting for the end of my shift. I told Rogis that I needed some fresh air, which was true; after a day with the swarming spectators inside the Arena pit, all I wanted was a cool breeze and some quiet. So I left the Temple as the sun was sinking into the western sea, and there was no one to notice that my solitary walk took me right back to the canton I'd guarded all day.

The walk itself was pleasant; the stars appeared by handfuls as the daylight faded, prickling into the sky between the moons. The sea was calm, lapping quietly at the city walls below, and the soft, refreshing breeze should have been enough to clear my head. It wasn't. My conversation with Amurah kept replaying itself in my mind, sometimes alternating with prayers for the strength to show her she was mistaken.

Inside the Arena waistworks, the halls echoed with laughter and happy shouts; the whole canton was in a celebratory mood. The first combat events of the season had been successful, and all the seasoned warriors were excited to return to their sport. I managed to avoid my brothers on duty, and hurried down to the Canalworks.

In the lower level, the hall was empty, and quieter. There was a door marked _Storage_ , with a sturdy lock; it opened easily when I tried the handle.

Inside, the room was filled with a haphazard jumble of barrels and crates. In the dim light, it took me a moment to find her. She sat crosslegged on a barrel, off to my left, bearing a bow with an arrow nocked and drawn, aimed for my throat. "You alone?" She asked.

"Yes," I said, and she lowered the bow.

"Shut the door."

I did, and gestured at the non-functioning lock. "Is this your doing?"

Amurah grinned lopsidedly at me, hopping down from her perch. "What are you going to do, arrest me? That's the least of your problems, Ordinator."

She was probably right, but I'd had to ask anyway. It was my duty, after all.

Amurah slung the bow over her shoulder and came closer. "I need your word-- as an Ordinator, as a follower of the Temple, or whatever you care to swear by-- that you will not betray the secret of the place I am about to take you."

I hesitated, unwilling to make such a commitment without knowing anything more. "I cannot give you that oath, assassin."

Her face hardened, and one hand twitched towards a blade at her belt. "Then turn around and leave right now, Ordinator. I won't betray my brothers and sisters if you can't simply swear to keep silent."

I had come this far, postponing my nightly devotions and concealing truth from my brothers so that I could meet a member of the Morag Tong in some secret chamber... I truly did not want to turn back now. And she had been right; I _did_ want to understand what was happening to me.

"Can you assure me that I will see nothing I'm obligated to report?" I asked at last. "Nothing illegal, that I--"

Amurah rolled her eyes. "Only things the Temple _wishes_ were illegal," she cut me off. "The Morag Tong guildhall, and a shrine to Mephala. Nothing more."

I eyed her for a moment, hesitating, feeling again that strange connection. I remembered the icy fire of her touch on my arm, and knew I could not walk away from this without knowing more. "I give you my word, as an Ordinator of the Watch of the Holy City of Vivec, that I will not reveal the location you are about to share with me."

She pressed her lips together and nodded. To my surprise, she did not lead me out of the storage room, but rather to a side closet, and then through a trapdoor in the floor.

I followed her, making considerably more noise in my armor than she did in hers, down a hall and up a flight of stairs. We entered a room in which several people I assumed were Guildmembers gave us weighted looks, but Amurah led me past them, to a small antechamber.

I know a shrine when I see one, even one to a Daedra, and I hesitated in the entrance, unwilling to set foot in such a profane place. Amurah shot me a warning glare over her shoulder, and after a moment's more hesitation, I followed her.

A scarlet-robed priest stood beside the simple altar, a secretive smile on his face as he greeted us. "Welcome, daughter. Mephala's darkness cloaks you well, as always. And be welcome, Son-Who-Seeks-Insight. You search for answers, yes?"

"Yes," I managed to admit, around a tight reluctance in my throat. That simple word, the admittance that I was here specifically to see a false god, rang hollowly in my head. _How have I fallen so far from my training?_ I wondered. If only I'd known....

The priest gestured to the prayer benches on either side of the shrine. "Then kneel, my children, and speak to the Webspinner."

That made me feel better, as I moved to obey, and Amurah took the bench across from me. The false deity would not speak to me, and Amurah would be forced to believe that she was mistaken--

Voices exploded in my head the instant my knees met the bench, making me pitch forward, shocked off balance. Male and female voices, overlapping and intertwining, deep and harmonious. They spoke powerful words that made my body shudder with their very intensity, words in no language I had ever heard, but that I somehow understood.

" _WELCOME, SUL DAERYS. AT LAST, YOU HAVE HEARD MY CALL, FELT MY MARK UPON YOUR FLESH. I HAVE CLAIMED YOU FOR MY OWN, MORTAL; YOU WILL DO GREAT WORK FOR ME AND FOR THE GUILD. THE ONE WHO IS CALLED AMURAH LLENITH WILL AID YOU. NO, MORTAL, DO NOT CONCERN YOURSELF WITH MY REASONS. IT WILL AMUSE ME WHEN THIS COMES TO LIGHT, AND THAT IS ALL YOU NEED KNOW. LEAVE ME NOW, AND SHADOWS CLOAK YOU."_

Abruptly, I was alone in my own head again, on hands and knees before the Daedric altar, muscles still twitching with shock. A deity had spoken to me, a Daedra had been inside my mind, when I had spent my life not daring to hope that the Tribunal might see fit to bless me in such a way.

"This is the one?" came a gravelly voice from behind me. Amurah came to my side and hauled me to my feet with surprising strength. She turned me around to face a dignified older Dunmer standing in the entrance, his hands folded together in the sleeves of his robe.

I stepped away from Amurah, just managing to keep my balance. The other man looked me up and down, emotionlessly. "I am Eno Hlaalu, Grandmaster of the Morag Tong. My White Thrall tells me you are to join the Guild."

I flinched, glancing at Amurah, who was watching me coolly. "No! No, ser," I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears after the echoes of the god's. "A misunderstanding, I believe. It must be."

Behind me, the priest spoke up. "You claim that the Spider is mistaken, Ordinator?"

"Of course he does," Amurah scoffed, but Eno Hlaalu held up a hand, and they both subsided.

"We cannot force you or hold you, Ordinator. You are free to go. But be aware: The farther you run from Mephala, the tighter he will pull the thread about your neck."

He stepped aside, leaving me a path of exit, but I hesitated, momentarily confused. Hadn't Amurah said that the Daedra was female?

_Idiot_ , I told myself. _Get out!_ I shouldered past the Grandmaster, going back the way I'd come, past the gathered assassins who'd come to stare. I was halfway down the hall to the trapdoor when Amurah caught up to me.

"Don't be a fool, Ordinator," she said from behind me. I rounded on her, and she took a step backward, startled.

"It's too late for _that_ ," I snapped. "Your secrets are safe, assassin, because I swore you an oath... but you will not come near me again. If I see you on the streets, I will have you arrested for heresy."

She raised her hands, a half-shrug. "Whatever you say. I only wonder how long it'll be before Mephala tightens her web around you."

Snarling beneath my mask, I turned away, hurrying back towards the sanctuary of the Temple, hoping that a hot bath would scour away the Daedric filth that now seemed to coat me even thicker than before.

\----

Like my previous attempts, of course, the bath did nothing but scald my skin to a darker hue than normal. I was reluctant to enter the Temple for my devotions. As profaned as I felt, I was sure that the saints would know I'd spoken to a Daedra. They were as uncommunicative as ever, though, and I felt just as blasphemous when I left as when I'd entered.

I spent the next few days in a preoccupied fog, dutifully going through the motions of my routine, without remembering any of it. The first chance I had at some free time, I found myself in the Temple Library, with my nose buried in a copy of _Darkest Darkness_ and several other books piled on the table before me.

So engrossed was I in my search for mention of Mephala that I did not immediately notice the man standing next to my table. When I did glance up and see Grandmaster Berel Sala looking down at me, I dropped my book and began to jump to my feet.

The Head of the Ordinators pressed me back into my chair with a firm hand on my shoulder. "Sit, son. Continue your studies."

"Aye, sir," I said, easing back into my seat. I picked up my book, but couldn't concentrate on it with him standing right beside me. He shuffled through the stack of books I had yet to read.

" _Aedra and Daedra, The Anticipations, Varieties of Faith...._ Interesting reading, my son. Hardly the sort of thing a brother of the Watch might study, wouldn't you say?"

An irrational bolt of fear shot through me, leaving a pool of icy guilt in my stomach. "A bit unorthodox, yes, sir. But I believe that only by understanding our enemies will we be able to defeat them. It seemed a prudent subject to study, so that I can be better prepared for whatever my future might hold."

The Grandmaster held my gaze for a moment, his eyes calculating behind his benevolent expression.

“Your insight does you credit, my son,” he said at last. “Continue your studies. Faith conquers all.”

“Let us yield to Faith,” I responded with the traditional reply, and he left. I returned to my book, pretending not to notice that Berel Sala pulled aside a librarian and spoke quietly to him, gesturing in my direction.

_Why so self-centered, suddenly?_ I asked myself. _Are you so prideful that you assume the Grandmaster has taken an interest in you?_ I decided that my paranoia was simply the result of a guilty conscience...something to which I was _not_ accustomed. I resolved, once again, to put the entire mess of the Morag Tong and Mephala and Amurah Llenith out of my head, and devote myself to more appropriate studies instead. The deeper I delved into my own faith, I thought, the more difficult it would be for some sacrilegious Daedra to reach me-- Or so I believed. I shelved my stack of books and returned to my seat with a copy of Vivec's twenty-third sermon.

My resolution was thwarted later that very same day, however. I don’t know what I expected when I was summoned to Elam Andas’ office... but I certainly hadn’t anticipated orders to leave the City, for the first time in my life, and search for the Shoes of St. Rilms in the Daedric shrine of Ald Sotha.


	4. Chapter 4

According to Elam Andas, I had made quite an impression on the Grandmaster in the Library, and he was of the opinion that I would be better suited to the Order of War than the Order of the Watch. I was not sure if I completely agreed with him, but I had my orders and was not asked for my opinion. It was a trial task, of sorts, to see how well I might handle myself outside of the Holy City. I was a little interested in learning that myself; I had been born in Vivec, raised by the Order from infancy, and had never left the City.

So, it was an oddly discreet exit that I made off the Telvanni canton, setting foot on real grass for the first time in my life. No one was there to witness that rather momentous first, I thought, except a few mudcrabs.

Yet somehow I was not surprised to see Amurah leaning against a tree, arms folded, after I'd been walking only a few minutes. She eyed me wordlessly as I approached.

"Meet many people with Guild Writs on their heads, out here?" I asked warily, wondering if _I_ was her intended target.

She pushed herself off the tree with a shrug and fell into step beside me. "I have no Writs to fill right now. Just thought I'd get some fresh air. Where are you headed?"

As if she didn't know... why else would she be waiting on this very path for me to walk past? I played along, though. What else was I to do? "Ald Sotha. An errand for the Temple."

"All alone? You'd think the Temple would send more than one Ordinator to assault a Daedric shrine, wouldn't you? Especially one that's as well-known for bandits as Ald Sotha."

"If the Temple thought I needed help, they would have sent another with me."

"Here, this way, you'll get stuck in the mud if you go that way... That's a nice thought, Ordinator. Did you ever think that maybe they're trying to get rid of you? Or is the Temple's information really so bad that they don't know how many foes really lurk in the shrine these days?"

The very idea was ridiculous, and yet... a little tendril of doubt wormed its way into my mind. _Could she be right?_ Maybe Elam Andas had seen an opportunity to rid the Order of a certain problematic brother, and....

"If that were true, I would have been sent somewhere more remote than a stone's throw away from the city, don't you think?" I asked coolly, wishing I could convince myself, much less Amurah.

She shrugged. "In any case, one might think you'd be glad of some company."

"I don't suppose I can stop you."

She let out a huff of laughter, and we strode on. A few minutes later, the strange architecture of the Daedric shrine came into view across a low valley. _So different from the orderly layout of the Holy City_ , I thought. Slender towers and columned domes, placed seemingly at random, reached toward the sky, twisted and leaning, as if they'd once been fluid and suddenly froze while the wind was buffeting them. I had been told what to look for, but it was still difficult not to stop and stare. Amurah's long strides took her ahead when I slowed.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder. "The entrance is usually-- ah, here it is." I joined her at a half-submerged platform, where an egg-shaped door was set crookedly into the wall. She pushed it open and stepped inside, drawing a blade as she disappeared into the darkness. I paused, uneasy about entering a shrine dedicated to false gods, with a skilled assassin who seemed to be following me for her own unfathomable reasons.

"Come _on_ ," she called again, impatiently. I readied my mace and stepped inside. The door shut behind me with an echoing _boom_ , and I blinked as my eyes began to adjust to the dimness. It was not as dark as it had looked from outside; after a few seconds, I could see Amurah clearly. She was already a few paces into the shrine without me, and I followed slowly, wanting to keep a safe distance between her and myself.

I needn't have worried, however; she proved to be a capable and helpful ally. Together, we fought our way through the Dremoras and bandits who inhabited the top level without much difficulty. As the last one fell, with a grunt and clang of armor on stone, Amurah stood blinking in the fading flash of light from the man's sparksword. "Well, this isn't so bad. Maybe you didn't need my help after all."

My hands fumbled clumsily as I searched the body; my arm still twitched with the after effects of the man's sword. I grimaced and pulled off my gauntlets to make better use of my hands, wondering how _she_ had managed to avoid being shocked. "Not finished yet," I said shortly, finding no holy saint's shoes on the man's person. "There's a sacred artifact I am supposed to retrieve."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" She knelt across from me to wipe the blood from her blade onto the dead man's sleeve. "What is it? I'll keep my eyes open for it."

I glared at her, ignoring that energy that crackled between us when our eyes met. "You will not touch it, assassin. I will not have your bloodstained hands profaning the holy relics."

She rolled her eyes and rose gracefully, sheathing her blade. "As if you're so pure and untainted yourself," she scoffed, turning to leave the room.

She was correct, of course, but that didn't stop me as I shot to my feet in anger and snatched her arm, hauling her back to face me. Immediately, her other hand flashed up between us, and the point of the blade she held pricked against my skin; she'd found the gap under the jawline of my mask, where helm met cuirass. Then, we both froze, because the skin of her arm was more electrifying than that bandit's sword, and it was all I could do not to reach for more... imminent danger of being sliced open not withstanding.

Her eyes had darkened to a deep, fiery burgundy. She licked her lips, and I could feel the muscles of her arm, tensing under my hand. Her knifepoint bit deeper into my neck.

" _Let. Me. Go_." Her voice was low, and would have been threatening, except that I heard the tiniest tremor in it, and knew that she was just as overwhelmed by our strange connection as I was.

My eyes narrowed, and we stared at each other for a long moment. It took more effort than it should have to make myself let her go; we jerked away from each other, staring across the dead man who lay between us.

"Do not touch me again," she said, and this time her voice was more dangerous, the voice of an assassin who was more than ready to kill if necessary. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and stalked back up the stairs, out of sight. I watched her go, and then closed my eyes. _What is happening to me?_ I thought, around the edge of worry that was beginning to press into my mind. I forced it back, and bent to retrieve my gauntlets, making a mental note to never take them off in Amurah's presence again.

I caught up with her just inside the lower level of the shrine, which surprised me-- I had thought she'd left Ald Sotha entirely. She glanced over her shoulder at me when I fell into step at her side, and said nothing. We emptied that portion of the shrine with hardly a word to each other. There were less bandits there, probably because of the several Daedroth that lurked in the shadows. I had read about such creatures, but never seen them; with their long-jawed reptilian heads mounted on hulking bipedal bodies, they were like something from a nightmare. I wondered, in between skirmishes, how much worse a Hunger or a Bonelord would be in person. The Temple trained its fighters well, but there were only so many foes a trainee could face without leaving the City.

The one bandit we did find, a pale woman with dark hair, fought fiercely enough that it took both of us to kill her. I don't remember who struck the final blow, but when she dropped to the ground, Amurah darted forward to stare at the woman's face.

"This is Severa Magia!" She exclaimed. She grinned up at me excitedly, forgetting that she'd been about to slit my throat not a quarter of an hour earlier. "The Night Mother of the Dark Brotherhood!"

I was still coughing from the effects of the last Daedroth's spell; I blinked watery eyes, watching Amurah remove a few small items from the dead woman's body. The Dark Brotherhood was a well-known group of assassins, but as illegal throughout the Empire as the Morag Tong was legal in Morrowind. The Brotherhood was also notoriously secretive and difficult to find.... and yet their leader now lay dead, by my hand and an assassin's. I felt lightheaded suddenly, as I perceived some god's hand in the events of the day.

I just wished I knew _which_ god it was.

Amurah had left the corpse and was busily looting the scrolls and weapons that sat on a nearby dais. I watched her wrench a Daedric tanto from a grinning skull, slip it into a sheath on her thigh and smile to herself.

We found no sacred shoes there, though, and continued to a door at the bottom of yet another staircase. "This should be the shrine proper," Amurah said softly.

I nodded and stepped forward, pushing the door open myself. Almost immediately, I was met with a blast of fire from the sorceress who stood at the altar in the center of the room. I charged at her, snarling. Another cloud of poison erupted around me, cast by the Daedroth that crouched in the shadows. I heard it howl in bestial rage as Amurah attacked it, and then my mace slammed into the sorceress' shields. She was strong, strong enough to hold her shieldspell in place while still battering me with fire. This, however, was exactly what Ordinators are trained for. A few simple spells of my own, Reflect and Drain Magicka, sent the flames hurtling back at her. Her shields flickered and faltered, and my mace sank into the side of her head with a wet crunch. She dropped to the altar steps without a sound.

I knelt to search her body-- no holy shoes. When I stood up, Amurah was standing a few paces away, the carcass of the Daedroth at her feet. "Thank you," I said grudgingly, gesturing at the monster's body.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug and came over to rifle through the sorceress' robes herself, pocketing three enchanted rings. While she did so, I stared around at the Daedric shrine. It was a large space, full of angular corners and complicated geometric motifs. Blue smoke poured from large censers near the ceiling, sinking sinuously toward the floor. The room was dominated by the altar to the Daedra, of course: a statue that towered overhead, with four arms bearing an enormous war axe, and the skull of some strange, horned beast adorning its chest.

"Who is he?" I asked.

Amurah gave the statue a disinterested glance, and returned her attention to the sorceress. "Mehrunes Dagon."

_The God of Destruction_ , I thought, remembering my studies. I stared up at the statue's face, fighting back a shiver at its furious countenance. How anyone could still choose, in this era, to follow such a horrible deity's teachings was beyond my understanding.

Amurah was watching me. "There's a few chests over there," she said, breaking into my thoughts with a gesture toward the rear of the altar. "If you still want to look for your relics."

I nodded, and made my way around the statue to the chests she indicated. Two held only a few books and magical scrolls, which I left. I frowned as I tried the third chest, and it did not open.

"It's locked," I said, wondering if I'd have to carry the entire chest back to the Temple.

"Oh, for the love of... Move over." Amurah brushed past me, exasperated, and crouched in front of the chest with a lockpick in her hand.

A moment later, the lid sprang open. She stood and moved aside, and I lifted off the lid, leaning it against the side of the chest.

Inside lay a pair of shoes, threadbare and obviously very old. They seemed to glimmer faintly with enchantment. I knelt reverently and said a brief prayer of thanks and praise to Vivec, and to St. Rilms, whose shoes they were. Then I unwound the pale blue scarf from my neck and carefully wrapped the shoes within.

"Finished here?" Amurah asked. I nodded, and we made our way back through the shrine's empty halls. While we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that I should apologize to Amurah... yet another part of me refused to believe that I had done anything wrong. The awkwardness between us now would be better, after all. The last thing I needed was a friendship, however grudging, with an agent of the Morag Tong. But by the time we stepped out into the sunlight, I had decided that I should thank her properly, at least. She _had_ been of some assistance, after all.

She brushed aside my thanks, though, with that same unconcerned shrug. "I'll be rewarded for the Threads I bring back to the Webspinner, and the news of Magia's death. That's all the thanks I need."

I checked that the shoes of St. Rilms were still securely wrapped, and fixed her with my sternest City guardsman look. "My earlier words still apply, assassin. I don't want to see you in the City." The words seemed hollow, now, especially after we'd just worked together.

Her lips quirked, one corner of her mouth twisting into a smile. With a flicker of her fingers, she faded from sight. "Don't worry," came her voice, with a hint of mocking laughter in it, fading as she moved away. "You won't see me, Ordinator."

Holding back a sigh, I tucked the holy relics under my arm, and began the walk back to the Temple.


	5. Chapter 5

My return to the Temple was met with considerably more fanfare than my exit. Endryn Llethan, Master of the Temple and the monk who'd dreamed the shoes' location, thanked me tearfully and bore the relics away with joyful reverence. I received a commendation for my "outstanding service and pious devotion to the Tribunal Temple and its interests in collecting and preserving the sacred artifacts from our holy saints." I also received a formal recommendation to transfer units, from the Order of the Watch to the Order of War.

I couldn't be sure, while Elam Andas read my commendation aloud, if there was a concealed doubt in the Chief of the Watch's eyes. He smiled and congratulated me, but I thought I saw a calculating shrewdness behind his gaze.

_Only my imagination_ , I told myself.

My brothers in the Watch were all appropriately congratulatory; Rogis even admitted that he was a bit envious. I thanked them all graciously; but privately, I wished that things were still the same as always.

I got my wish, in a way, for a little while. My transfer to the Order of War was still incomplete; I needed a second officer's recommendation before I could be permanently reassigned. Until an opportunity was offered to me, I remained on duty for the Watch. Things seemed to return to normal; I fell back into my old routines for a few weeks. I no longer felt the dark touch that had plagued me before; either it had left me, I thought, or I had grown so accustomed to its presence that I no longer noticed it.

There was one notable difference now, however... Whenever I was on duty for the Watch, I could swear that it was _I_   who was being watched. To this day, I do not know if it was truly because Amurah was spying on me, or if it was only a paranoid delusion. She was true to her word, though; never did I catch so much as a glimpse of her, either on duty or off.

During this time, I spent my off-duty hours in the library, mostly. Remembering my conversation with Berel Sala, I followed my own counsel and read anything that I thought would help me survive outside the City. Geography, history, sorcery... anything that pertained to the island outside of Vivec, I studied. And, yes... I read about the Daedra. I learned about as many of them as I could, knowing that I had to be prepared for anything, but Mephala was first in my studies.

The Spider God, the Webspinner; Mephala had several names like these, evoking a hidden presence that manipulated events unseen, the way an entertainer might pull the strings of puppets. I learned that the deity was hermaphroditic, bearing both male and female aspects, though my books were not entirely clear on how this could be. _Ah_ , I thought when I read this, suddenly understanding why Amurah and the other assassins I'd met referred to the false god as both male and female. For myself, I mostly thought of the Daedra as female, perhaps because that was how Amurah had first spoken of her.

I learned, also, that Mephala was considered to be the Anticipation of Vivec, a sort of forerunner to the Poet, something that was never taught to me in my formal training. _How ironic_ , I thought, _to spend my life in devotion to one god, only to find myself plagued by the attentions of his false shadow._

My studies confirmed other things that I had only guessed at, or heard in passing. Mephala was credited with forming the Morag Tong; it was believed that she taught the ancient Chimer to form Houses among themselves, and to kill their enemies with "secret murder."

The subject matter made me uncomfortable-- had I not resolved to focus my attention on the studies of the Tribunal, rather than these pagan gods? Yet, a part of me knew that I would need all the knowledge I could absorb, and I felt better equipped to face any more Mephala-worshippers who might cross my path.

So passed the few weeks of normalcy that were granted to me, until I was called into Elam Andas' office early one morning, to receive my new orders.

"The Master of the Temple in Balmora, a monk named Feldrelo Sadri, sent word that she may have some work for you to do. You're to leave immediately. If she's satisfied with your efforts, Sadri will endorse a recommendation for your transfer," Andas said brusquely. He handed me a folded parchment and a small pouch of gold. "Here's some money for expenses. And there's a map to Balmora, but you'll probably want to take a silt strider. If you do walk, keep in mind that the roads are crawling with bandits who'd see a single Ordinator as a challenge, not a threat. You may want to leave your helm here, and throw a robe over your armor. Faith conquers all." He turned his attention to some other paperwork, effectively dismissing me.

"Let us yield to Faith," I responded dutifully, and took my leave.

I made a quick stop in my room to get my priests' robe, taking Andas' advice. I also took a small pack with which to conceal my Indoril helm at some point. There would be little danger of an attack on a silt strider, and I was reluctant to go without my mask any sooner than absolutely necessary.

I was already armed with my dagger and mace. Folding the robe under my arm, I made my way through the city streets toward the strider port.

To one such as I, unaccustomed to traveling by virtue of anything but my own feet, the ride to Balmora in the hollowed-out carapace of the silt strider was quite an experience. I was heartily grateful when it was over. I stood on the platform, wavering a bit on unsteady legs, and paid the caravaner, deciding that I would likely be walking back to the City.

I took a glance around, getting my bearings. From the platform, I could see only a jumble of rooftops, shrouded in haze that had yet to burn off in the late morning sun. I started down the stairs, thanking the Three that my motion sickness seemed to have passed.

Balmora was a pleasant enough town; the cobblestone streets were patrolled by guards of House Hlaalu, who gave respectful nods to me in my Ordinator uniform, and not a second glance. I passed several shops and guildhouses before coming to a cross street. As I slowed to look for the Temple, a movement caught my eye across the plaza to my left, and I turned my head to look. In the plaza, a tall, slender figure paused in mid-step as our eyes met. Startled, I stumbled a few steps before turning in the other direction and hurrying away.

_What is_ she _doing here?_ I thought, feeling anger beginning to swell inside me. _If she's following me, I'll have her arrested_. Fortunately, my attempts to avoid her had led me toward the Temple; I saw its welcome courtyard on a small rise, at the outskirts of the town.

I hurried to the door and let myself in, where a smiling acolyte welcomed me and showed me to a room where I could lodge during my stay. He prattled incessantly the entire time, babbling inanely about various sights to see while I was in Balmora. I endured it politely, only half listening while I set my meager belongings into a chest at the foot of a bed I'd chosen.

Mercifully, the acolyte was called away when another pilgrim entered the Temple, and I was left to myself. The acolyte had left the door to the common bedchamber open, and I could hear him greeting the newcomer enthusiastically.

The pilgrim gave him a subdued reply, too low for me to make out the words; but I knew that voice. I pretended to busy myself with cleaning my dagger, not looking up as Amurah followed the acolyte into the room.

The priest led her to a bed a discreet distance from mine, and somehow Amurah managed to dismiss the eager young man with a few gracious words. I could feel her eyes on the back of my helm when the priest left, shutting the door behind him.

"Are you following me, Ordinator?" She demanded.

I thrust my weapon back into its sheath with a _snap_ , and glared at her. "I believe it was _you_ who followed me into the Temple, assassin."

She stalked past the rows of bunks, coming to a stop before me, eyes flashing angrily. "You know what I meant. What in bloody Oblivion are you doing in Balmora?"

"I was about to ask the same of you."

We stared at each other for a long moment, trying to ignore that force that still seemed to lay, invisibly, between us.

"Business," she said finally. "I have a Writ on a criminal hiding out Hlormaren, just west of here. And you?"

"Orders. A few errands to run for the Master of this Temple, before I return to the City."

She relaxed, a little bit; some of the spark left her eyes. "Just a coincidence," she muttered, half to herself.

"You must leave here, now," I said, hoping I had put enough Ordinator authority in my voice to convince her.

Amurah only smirked at me. "Why? Afraid I'll defile your precious Temple with my presence?"

_Yes,_ I thought, but what I said was, "I should not be seen with you. In Vivec, where I am just another Ordinator, it would be less noticeable. Here, I should have no reason to speak with anyone but the priests of the Temple. If we are seen together, it might raise unpleasant questions, for both of us."

She considered that, looking thoughtful. "Fair enough," she admitted. "Stay out of trouble, Ordinator." She left the room with a grin. I stood there and watched her go, feeling darkly amused by her words. _If only she knew how hard I am trying to do just that..._

I found the monk, Feldrelo Sadri, downstairs in the Temple's library. She greeted me as seriously as the first priest had been jovial, and explained the nature of the task that she needed completed. I listened, taking mental notes, while she told me of the stronghold that was housing uncounted criminals who preyed on the citizens and pilgrims, and that she needed a warrior to clear the dangerous rubbish from the old fortress. When she finished, remarking that it would be best for me to start as soon as possible, I had only one question.

"Tell me again, Sister Feldrelo, if you would, the name of this stronghold?" I asked, hoping I'd heard incorrectly, the first time.

"It is called Hlormaren; it's not even an hour's walk from here. Here, I'll mark it for you."

There it was again, that sense that some god, or gods, conspired to entangle my path with Amurah's, for reasons I had no hope of understanding. Numbly, I blinked away a wave of dizziness while Feldrelo took my map and jotted a few marks on it.

"There you are, Brother Sul. Use caution; these ruffians are not to be taken lightly."

I nodded in assent. "I will return to make my report when the stronghold is emptied, sera."


	6. Chapter 6

Clouds hid the late afternoon sun while I made the trek to Hlormaren, keeping a watchful eye open for a certain Morag Tong assassin. I met no one on the walk, though, and the area seemed oddly quiet as I approached the boxy shape of the stronghold.

A flight of steps led up to the open top of the fortress, where two large structures rose even higher. I saw no sign of Amurah Llenith, but I felt again that unseen pair of eyes burning into my back.

A few paces across the open space, I caught sight of a body lying in a pool of fresh blood, near a corner of the building to my right. _Perhaps she's already been here and gone,_ I thought, without much hope, as I went to inspect the corpse. I crouched beside the dead woman; she had put up a fight before she was killed. Dark bruises marred her face, and there was a long but shallow knife slash across her throat, which had not killed her. I looked closer, finding two stab wounds in her torso, behind weak spots in her armor.

Something clamped onto the crest of my helm, hauling my head back, and a blade edge was a sudden cold line against my throat. My hands reacted instinctively, starting to reach up and grab my attacker. I forced myself to relax; the skin of my neck was drawn so tightly that my assailant could kill me before I got a good grip on his arm... or _her_ arm, for I had a good idea who it was.

"I thought you said you weren't following me, Ordinator," Amurah hissed in my ear. "So far, I'm not convinced."

I stared straight up at the sky, watching the shifting layers of gray clouds. "Nor am I convinced that _you_ are not following _me,_ assassin. I'm here only because my contact at the Temple requested I empty Hlormaren of the bandits who have taken up residence within."

She let out a soft huff of humorless laughter. "And you just happen to be in the same town, and then the same fortress in the wilderness, at the exact same time as I? Try again."

My neck was beginning to hurt. Subtly, I shifted my feet beneath me. "Threatening an officer of the Law, especially an Ordinator, is a crime. Perhaps you should--" Midsentence, I leapt up and backwards, slamming Amurah into the wall behind me and snatching at her blade-arm as I did so. She grunted at the impact and let the knife go, slithering out from between the wall and myself, still clutching a handful of my helm's crest. I reached up and grasped her wrist, trying to pry her free, but her fingers were locked on the brush-strands of the crest with a death grip. There was a moment of blind discomfort as the helm was wrenched from my head; it fell to the ground with a clang as she twisted free of my hand and leapt backwards. Something in her other hand glinted briefly. I flinched aside, and hot pain flared on the edge of my ear as her throwing star flashed past, skittering across the stone surface of the fortress behind me.

I had my mace in hand, but I hesitated when I saw she had stopped, her eyes wide. She looked surprised, and _embarrassed_ , of all things. "Gods, I'm sorry," she said, with a half-laugh in her voice. "I wasn't trying to... it was just a reflex. I didn't intend to hurt you."

I stared at her through narrowed eyes, reaching up gingerly to touch my ear. "Is that why you threatened to slit my throat?" I asked sourly. The fingertips of my gauntlet came away from my ear bloody.

"Can you blame me? I'm an assassin, I'm suspicious by nature, especially when someone seems to be following me. But you are marked by Mephala, and I would not intentionally hurt you."

_Well, that's comforting_ , I thought with irony. Blood was trickling down my neck; I gathered the end of my scarf to press against my ear.

Amurah knelt gracefully to pick up my helm. She rubbed at a scratch that marred its cheek, then handed it to me. She was looking at me with an expression that made me uncomfortable, a corner of her mouth quirked in a secretive smile. No one outside of the Temple had seen me without my mask since I had earned the right to wear it; I wonder if she guessed it. I took the helm with grudging thanks and replaced it as soon as my ear stopped bleeding.

I kept a wary eye on Amurah as she walked around me to retrieve her throwing star. "If you really are going into this fortress, you might want a companion," she said over her shoulder. "Hlormaren is well-known to be a haven for all types of criminals."

"If I wanted or needed a companion, I would have asked for one from the Temple," I said flatly, walking away, toward the nearest door.

She caught up to me easily, falling in beside me with long strides. "Oh, so you'll be fine in there by yourself? Like in Ald Sotha, I suppose. As I recall, you couldn't even open a locked chest by yourself. How are you planning to fulfill your mission alone if there are any locked doors in the stronghold?"

Much as I hated to admit it, she had a point. I stopped at the entrance to Hlormaren's keep, ignoring the tension between us as I stared at her. "Why?" I asked. "A moment ago you nearly killed me, and now you expect me to believe that you'll aid me?"

Amurah hesitated, as if she were trying to choose a response. Finally, she folded her arms across her chest and said flatly, "I told you, I wouldn't have killed you. I have my own orders."

Something about the way she said it sent a cold chill through me. "Orders from whom?" I demanded. Was the Guild having me watched?

The assassin pressed her lips together, regarding me silently. When it became apparent that no answer was forthcoming, I turned away, stepping through the door into the dark halls of the fortress.

She followed me silently, cloaked in the shadows that seemed to bend to her will. When I glanced over my shoulder, I could not see her, but I felt her eyes on me as I made my way down the dark halls. I set my jaw and resolutely ignored her.

I -- _we_ \-- didn't get very far, before the first of many criminals attacked us in the halls. After the two Nords fell, slumped against the walls, I heard Amurah slide an invisible blade into an invisible scabbard. "What, no 'thank you'?" asked her voice, a teasing smile in it. I ignored her, and kept moving.

As the day wore on, however, my reluctance turned to grudging gratitude. Hlormaren was indeed overrun with bandits, and I had to admit that my task would have been much harder without Amurah's help. I made my way to the fortress' underground rooms first. We fought through the slavers on the lowest level and the smugglers in the keep's first story, killing at least two dozen. I never truly saw Amurah fighting at my side, but occasionally I would catch a glimpse of the shadows that slid through the skirmishes beside me, making it seem that I killed twice as many men as I really did. Only when we had paused before the door to the highest level of the keep did she reappear fully, blood-spattered and somewhat disheveled.

I eyed her sideways. "Aren't you worried, fighting next to me when I can't see you, that I might strike you?" I asked, the first time I'd spoken to her since entering the fortress.

"Why, are you trying to?" She asked, looking at me coolly.

I glared at her. "I have more honor than you think, assassin. I am only trying to avoid an unpleasant accident."

Her mouth quirked into a lopsided grin. "And I have more _grace_ than _you_ think, Ordinator. I know how to stay out of your way."

_Not well enough_ , I thought, but said nothing as the two of us climbed the staircase.

There were more bandits, of course, and it was there that Amurah was wounded.

We found several men in the first room we entered, and more and more attackers seemed to pour into the room as we fought. By this time, I had become accustomed to not seeing Amurah, so I was not concerned when it seemed that I was fighting alone. The battle descended into swirling madness, all screams and confusion and the scent of fresh-spilled blood. There was no time to marvel at how rapidly the fight had escalated, even if I'd been aware of it. I was overwhelmed by the battle itself, by the feelings that welled inside me as I fought: ferocity and exhilaration, a joyful sense of being truly _alive._

Then, just as quickly as it had intensified, it was over. Caught up in the rhythm of the fight, I staggered a step, dodging an imagined blow before I realized that no others remained standing. I let my mace sag to the ground and tried to catch my breath.

In the sudden silence of the room, Amurah's lengthy and violent curse made me wince. I turned to see her at the other end of the room, leaning against the wall. She still held her weapon, but her free hand was pressed against her back, just above her waist. Her face was set in a pained grimace, and her skin seemed faded to a pale grayish-green.

"What happened?" I asked, hurrying towards her, my fading battle-thirst washed away by concern.

She waved me away, hobbling gingerly toward a bed that stood against the wall. Blood was trickling from under her cuirass. "Some bloody s'wit came around the corner from behind me. It went right through my armor; I'm just glad he missed my spine. If you know any healing spells, Ordinator, I could certainly use one."

I shook my head. "I have not yet learned anything to heal this severe an injury. Someone at the Temple could-"

She peered down at herself, trying unsuccessfully to glimpse the injury. "I can't see how bad it is, but if that's all _my_ blood, I'm not going to make it to the Temple," she said matter-of-factly. Her voice held no hint of the pain she must have been feeling. "I'll have to wrap it before we go on."

Amurah began to undo the ties on her cuirass, and I looked away hurriedly when I realized she wore nothing under it. "Do something useful, Ordinator," she said crossly, tossing me a folded sheet from the end of the bed. Grateful for something to distract me, I began tearing it into strips.

She struggled to remove the cuirass without pulling the wound farther open. I worked at my bandage-tearing in silence, trying to ignore the difficulty she was having. If it had been one of my brothers in the Watch, or even an assassin who was male, I would have helped without hesitation... But the propriety ingrained in me by the Temple, and the strangely god-touched tension between Amurah and I, kept me from offering my aid.

"Give me those," she said eventually, reaching out an arm. I placed the strips of cloth into her hands without looking at her, and busied myself with searching the dead while she began to tend the wound.

It was only a few moments, however, before she snarled another oath, and added, "...I may need your help, Ordinator."

Her voice sounded weaker than it had a moment before; I turned to look at her, and was shocked by the pallor of her skin. She was losing too much blood, too quickly. She was turned modestly away from me, but held the tangle of makeshift bandages toward me with a pleading look over her shoulder.

I hesitated, for just an instant, knowing that she was an agent of a blasphemous religion, and that it was her wish to somehow entangle me with Mephala, and that I could just as easily leave her to bleed to death. _And further shame the Temple by withholding your compassion,_ I told myself. An image formed in my mind's eye; the illustrations from the _36 Lessons_ , depicting Vivec himself showing mercy to his enemies.

The vision evaporated as I sank onto the bed behind Amurah, taking the bandages from her hand; I had moved without even realizing it. The folded cloth that she'd pressed against the injury was already soaked through. Hurriedly, I gathered another bandage to place over it. The cloth snagged on the joints of my gauntlets, and the simple task took twice as long as it should have.

"It might be easier if you took the gauntlets off," she pointed out, glancing at me over her shoulder again.

_"Easier" is not the word I would have chosen,_ I thought, remembering what had happened the last time we'd touched. "Don't turn around, you're making it worse," I told her. "Are you sure you want me to do that?"

She swayed a little where she sat. "I'm sure that I don't want to die because you're afraid to touch me," she said. "I'm starting to feel a bit dizzy, Ordinator."

I grimaced under my mask and grasped her hand, guiding it to the makeshift dressing. "Hold this," I said, and tugged off my gauntlets, letting them drop to the floor.

She drew in a hissing breath when my fingertips touched her skin... I'm not entirely certain that I didn't do the same. It was just as it had been in the Arena, and in Ald Sotha; a near-overload of sensation, intoxicating in both its pleasure and its forbidden nature. She was more slender than she'd appeared when wearing her armor; her lithe back was tensed in pain, and several old scars traced faint lines across the muscles of her shoulders. I gritted my teeth against the growing urge to run my hands over her skin, and tried to focus on the task at hand.

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it, what would happen if we touched under...less dire circumstances?" She asked softly, and a little breathlessly.

Unbidden, more thoughts formed in my mind's eye... but these were impure thoughts, altogether unworthy of an Ordinator sworn chastely to the Temple. I closed my eyes, but that only made the images stand out clearer. "That will not happen, assassin," I said firmly, handing her the long end of a strip of cloth so she could wrap it across her abdomen and pass it back to me on her other side.

"What makes you so sure of that?" She asked, teasingly, though her voice was growing thready.

I told her about the vows of chastity required by the Order, silently thanking the Three as I spoke. The explanation served to remind _me_ of my own vows, as well as to keep Amurah's mind engaged. Her responses had become little more than mumbles, though, by the time I had finished, and she was wavering unsteadily.

"Thank you," she murmured faintly when I was done, and began to shrug carefully back into her leather cuirass. I got to my feet hurriedly, pulling on my gauntlets, both relieved and reluctant to break the contact with her.

I steadied her with a hand under her elbow when she tried to stand; I half-expected her to shove me away in annoyance. Instead, she leaned against me for an instant before finding her balance. "I should try and head for the Temple," she said, slurring the words together. I eyed her, concerned; her skin was even paler than before.

"I am finished here," I replied, knowing I couldn't let her leave alone, not after she'd lost so much blood. "I'll walk back with you."

"I don't need--" She took all of three steps before her knees buckled; I almost didn't manage to catch her. She was a dead weight in my arms, unconscious. I very nearly snarled a worried curse of my own, then; but I had enough Temple discipline left to refrain. Instead, I gathered her in my arms and began to hurry back to Balmora as quickly as I could.

The late afternoon sun had fallen below the edge of the clouds to the west, and sunlight slanted golden between the buildings of Balmora when I returned, leaving a trail of bloody footprints across the cobblestones. Amurah's bandage had been soaked through again, and her blood was running down my armor in rivulets. A city guard met me halfway, taking her from me and carrying her the rest of the way, while I followed behind, glad of the respite for my aching arms.

The Temple's entrance hall and shrine were empty when I arrived several minutes later, though I could hear voices deeper within the building. Wisely deciding to stay out of the healers' way, I settled myself in the shrine to pray before the altar of St. Llothis.

Feldrelo Sadri found me there several hours later, announcing her presence with a delicate cough. Distracted from my meditations, I made a last prayer to the Three and rose stiffly to face the monk.

"How is she?" The words sounded betrayingly concerned to my own ears, but Feldrelo did not seem to notice.

"Healed and gone; she left some time ago. We asked if she would like to stay and rest, or speak to you, but she refused. She left no name, but she did leave a generous donation. Where did you find her?"

The spontaneous lie rolled off my tongue as if I had rehearsed it. "By the side of the road, on my way back from Hlormaren," I said, half-amazed at the ease with which I spoke the falsehood. "She said she'd been attacked by a man fleeing the stronghold." I stumbled over it, at the end, but it worked in my favor, as Feldrelo took my hesitation for regret.

"Now, do not worry yourself overmuch, Brother Sul," she said, a look of compassion softening her features. "The Three have their ways of working justice, and all worked toward the good in the end. The traveler was saved by your quick actions, and more pilgrims in the future can travel the Bitter Coast without fear of the bandits that you removed from the stronghold. As it was written: you have forged Darkness into Light."

I gave her a tired smile, though her platitudes left me feeling hollow. "You are correct, of course, sister. I thank you for your kind words; they are a comfort."

"I have already written my recommendation for your transfer, along with praise for your efforts in saving the life of the pilgrim. I will have it ready for you when you depart; and I will have someone bring washwater to your quarters, if you have time to clean your armor before you leave."

I blinked. I had forgotten what a mess I was, after carrying the bleeding Amurah to the Temple. "That would be most kind, sera," I said.

Feldrelo Sadri smiled and left the shrine, leaving me alone with the sour taste of a lie in my mouth, and the memory of Amurah's body in my arms.


	7. Chapter 7

The night I returned to Vivec, the nightmares began. They varied night to night, from violence and storms to vampires and falls from great heights; visions of terror from which I could not awaken, no matter how hard I tried. Worst were the dreams I could not remember: from those, I _did_ awaken, sweating and breathless, with my heart pounding from what could have been fear or something else, and no memory of the visions that had haunted my sleep.

Thus, my first few official weeks as a member of the Order of War are still a blur in my mind; the dreams afforded me too little rest to allow my memory to work properly. There was not much to remember, in any case. I still lived in the Hall of Justice in Vivec, and occasionally volunteered to take a shift on the Watch, as there was little to do on the long stretches between assignments outside the city.

On perhaps the fifteenth or sixteenth night of nightmares, I awoke with a start, jerking upright in my cot with a strangled gasp. The dream was already forgotten; I rubbed wearily at my eyes, wishing I could sleep for more than a few hours without interruption.

I lay back down, but I was kept awake by the certainty that I would only dream again. After a half-hour or so, I rose and dressed myself in my armor, hoping a walk in the cool night air would calm my nerves.

My restless feet took me to the Hlaalu canton. I wandered the outer walkways, seeing no one but a few brothers of the Watch; it was there that Amurah found me. She emerged gracefully from the dark shadows outside the entrance to the waistworks, drifting into sight like a dark feather in the wind. I averted my eyes and kept walking, hoping to pass unrecognized.

It was a foolish hope, of course. She fell into step beside me, moving silently. "Well, well... what keeps you up and about so late in the night, Ordinator?"

I eyed her warily. "Nightmares," I said shortly, wondering what she would make of it.

Her gracefulness seemed to fail her momentarily; she stumbled one step, shooting me a startled glance, but she said nothing.

"And you?" I asked, trying not to feel guilty about glancing behind me, to see if another Ordinator was watching. "Wandering the night on Mephala's dark errands, are you?"

"Yes," she replied simply, and glanced at me again, as she pulled open the door to the plaza. "Care to join me?"

"Surely I don't look quite that mad," I said, staring at her. She smiled, infuriatingly, and ducked through the door.

Smoothing away my scowl of annoyance, I went after her, easing shut the heavy door. She walked on without me, and I hurried to catch up, trying to walk softly across the echoing flagstones. "What are you doing?" I hissed, my eyes on the guard who stood post at the far end of the plaza.

"I have a Writ to carry out," Amurah said, and reached into a pocket. "Here, you can read it, if you like. In fact, it would be good if you came with me. Sometimes the onlookers get a little... overexcited, and it would be best to have an Ordinator present at the time of the execution. Just to keep things from getting out of hand." She held up the rolled paper toward me.

I nearly reached for it, but common sense intervened. What would the Order make of a _second_ report, under my name, of an execution carried out by an assassin named Amurah Llenith?

"I'm off duty," I said.

"Then why are you following a Guildmember around the City in the middle of the night?" She asked innocently. She glanced pointedly at the other guard, who had now turned to stare in our direction.

_Too clever_ , I thought to myself, angrily. "Lead on, citizen," I raised my voice, making it impersonal and a bit impatient. "I have more important duties to attend than verifying the legality of your executions." The guard turned away, satisfied that nothing was amiss, and I followed Amurah into the Elven Nations Cornerclub, glowering at her back.

Inside, the few patrons who visited the club in the late hours of the night were laughing uproariously at some drunken joke. They fell silent when we entered; I could not say if it was due to my presence, or the look of grim purpose that Amurah wore as she strode through the tavern. I followed her down to the lower level, where a few drunkards sat slumped over their tables.

One of them, a Dunmer, looked up as we entered. His eyes widened, and he rose clumsily to his feet, fumbling a knife into his hand.

"I- I don't want any trouble-" he stammered, backing away from Amurah as she approached.

It happened more quickly than I'd expected. Amurah did not stop to reply to the man's pleas; her Daedric sword was in her hand, the one that she'd taken from Ald Sotha. She slashed at him without hesitation, moving fluidly to evade his attempts at a counterattack. As the other patrons looked up muzzily to watch, I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, thinking uneasily that I should have read the Writ _before_ I allowed her to attack the man.

I could see that the unlucky Dunmer would not have been a match for Amurah even if he was sober. The struggle was over in short order, and Amurah straightened up from his corpse to hand me the Writ, all business.

I skimmed over it without truly reading it; I still was not sure I would make a true report. Since a bit of a crowd had gathered in the room, I went through the formality of recording her name, noting that she'd moved up in the ranks of the Guild since the first time we'd met. When I'd finished, she took her leave with a wry smile and went back the way we'd entered, up to the plaza-level of the tavern.

"Move along, citizens," I grated automatically, and the gathering of onlookers began to disperse.

Not wanting to encounter the guard in the plaza, I left through the door that led into the waistworks. The soft sound of the running water there was soothing, helping to ease, a little, the guilt I was beginning to feel. To come upon a scene of execution after it was done, and to let the murderer go, that was one thing... No one on the Watch enjoyed it, but it had to be done. But, this- to stand aside and _watch_ it be carried out, without stepping in to prevent it? I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering what was happening to my piety, my devotion to the Temple and truth.

My lip twisting in disgust under my helm, I left the waistworks as quickly as my feet would carry me.

Amurah found me again a few minutes later, this time as I stepped off the bridge to the Redoran canton.

"Nightmares, eh?" Said her voice in the darkness, startling me. She appeared in my sight a moment later, leaning against the wall across from the bridge, arms folded over her chest. I slowed my hurried strides, staring at her.

"Yes," I said shortly, and made my feet keep moving, walking past her.

"Me, too."

I paused, turning around to look at her again. She hadn't moved. I could feel that tension between us when our eyes met; it pulled at me, and it took an effort to resist. A thought surfaced in my memory, Eno Hlaalu's warning: _The farther you run from Mephala, the tighter he will pull the thread about your neck._ We stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

"Come with me," she said finally. "The Grandmaster wants to speak with you."

"Why?" I demanded.

She shrugged. "It is not my place to say."

Thinking that I would probably regret it later, I agreed, reluctantly. She told me to meet her in the Arena again, and then faded from sight, bleeding into the shadows. Resolutely, I headed across Redoran canton, determined to ask Eno Hlaalu why his assassin was following me.

\----

The Morag Tong headquarters was just as I remembered it. I avoided looking toward Mephala's shrine; Amurah led me past it, through a maze of twisting halls. "You should count yourself lucky, Ordinator," she said as we walked. "I don't think anyone who is not in the Guild has been here more than once."

There were several things in her statement that I could have argued with-- I certainly did _not_ consider myself to be lucky, for one-- but, oddly, I was most bothered by her use of my title. The night was becoming more and more surreal; after watching her carry out an execution, and now voluntarily going to speak with her superior, I certainly didn't _feel_ like an Ordinator, and I did not appreciate the reminder.

"I _do_ have a name, assassin," I said crossly.

"So do I," she retorted, and then stopped, looking at me with a bemused expression. "You do?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged. "I thought maybe the Ordinators gave up their names when they entered into the Temple's service. I've never heard any referred to by name."

I made a noncommittal sound. Amurah glanced at me. "Well?"

"Sul," I told her, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Like the mask on my helm, my anonymity was part of the facade of professionalism that I hid behind when I was on duty. And, like the mask, it was another thing I had let Amurah see beneath. "Sul Daerys."

She looked as if she would reply, but we had arrived at a doorway to a room where Eno Hlaalu sat at a desk, several open books arrayed before him. He did not look up as we entered.

"I have brought... the Ordinator to speak with you, Grandmaster," Amurah said, glancing at me.

The man did not look up as he replied absently, "Yes... Leave him."

Amurah shot me another glance, a warning one-- what she was warning me against, I could not say-- before heading back down the hall. I was left alone with Eno Hlaalu, who continued to ignore my presence. I found myself wondering what atrocities the man had committed in his lifetime, that he would have risen to such a high position in a Guild that carried out murders. I felt myself growing angry, and waited unmoving, glaring at him.

When he did finally turn his attention to me, his piercing gaze was startling. Even more startling were his words; certainly not what I had expected.

"How have you been sleeping, Ordinator?" He asked.

I blinked, suddenly more surprised than angry. "Not well," I admitted, cautiously. "I have been plagued by nightmares every night. Your assassin tells me she suffers the same. Is this your doing?"

Hlaalu's mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "Mine? You are more foolish than you look, Ordinator. These dreams are sent to you by Mephala."

I opened my mouth to defy his claim, and then thought better of it. Mephala _had_ spoken to me, after all... there was no reason to believe that the god could not force nightmares upon me, as well.

"Why?" I asked instead.

Eno Hlaalu leaned back in his chair, gazing up at me. "The Spider has plans for you, and yet you resist. There is a space in his web that you are meant to fill, and he will continue to call you until you answer."

" _What_ plans?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You are in a better position to know than I am. What do _you_ think he wants?"

"I don't know," I said obstinately. Hlaalu only stared at me, and finally I amended reluctantly, "Well. Perhaps... it seems the god wants me to join the Morag Tong." It was laughable to hear myself say it.

"Perhaps," he agreed calmly. He took a well-worn book from a stack on his desk, a slim volume with a scuffed green cover. "Take this; read it. Amurah can bring it back when you've finished. Do not resist the Spider's will too long, Ordinator. His price for delay may be more than you are willing to pay." I took the book, and he turned back to his own studies, dismissing me.

I waited a moment; when he continued to ignore me, I strode out of the room, glancing at the book.

_The Black Glove_ , read the worn green cover. I had heard of it; it was given to prospective new members of the Morag Tong as an introduction to the Guild. My anger returned in a flare of heat, and I clenched my hand around the book, wishing I could tear it in half.

For the third time that night, Amurah intercepted my path; she was waiting in the common bunk room outside Hlaalu's quarters. She got to her feet when I entered. "I will take you to the shrine-" she began.

"I have nothing to say to your Spider God," I interrupted, tossing her the book as I walked past her. "Or to you. Any of you."

"Sul." My name, coming from her lips, sent a thrill through me. Despite myself, I paused, turning my head to glare at her.

Amurah took a deep breath. "Whatever dreams you've been having... imagine if you did not have your Tribunal to guard you from the worst of them. You, you have your Three god-kings and your saints to give you their blessings and soften Mephala's touch. But I've devoted my life to following the Spider; I _belong_ to her. And when she chooses to send me visions in my sleep..." She shuddered, and I realized for the first time how sunken and haunted her eyes looked.

She held the book out toward me, a plea in her gaze. "Please, Sul, just read it. I ask no more than that. I don't like this any more than you do... But whatever Mephala is doing to convince you, I receive the same, tenfold. _Please_."

I held back a sigh and took the book reluctantly, refusing to acknowledge the warmth spreading through me when Amurah smiled gratefully. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't," I told her, hurrying away from her as quickly as I could.


	8. Chapter 8

_The blood of the hunter and the blood of the hunted. The joy of the hidden and the joy of the seeker. The blood of the eye and the blood of the gate. The joy of the living and the joy of the dead. Are you one with these things? Then, perhaps, your oath and service may please Mephala._

The words stirred something inside me, something dark and secretive that I did not wish to face. I snapped the book shut and rubbed absently at one corner of the cover, staring out to sea. There was little to see off the east-facing wall of the Temple; I had stolen a few moments alone, out of sight of the Ministry of Truth's looming shadow, to open the book Amurah had insisted I read. Just visible in the pale, early morning light were the scattered islands off the coast, past a wide expanse of waves. The day promised to be fair, clear and sunny, at odds with the darkness that I felt was trapped within me.

My hands tightened on the book and I desperately shoved away the thoughts that formed in my mind, thoughts of blood and death and fierce joy. Thoughts of Amurah, her eyes haunted and pleading. Her voice, giving shape to my name-

" _No_ ," I told myself harshly, willing the tide of guilty thoughts to stop. With a snarl, I hurled the cursed book as hard as I could. It sailed over the water for a good distance before the cover opened and pages fluttered wildly, slowing its flight. It sank out of sight with a faint splash, and I felt a little better. Ridding myself of Mephala's tainted touch, and the Morag Tong's interest in me, wouldn't be as easy as tossing a book into the ocean... But I resolved that, for whatever reason it was that Vivec chose to test my faith, I would not turn my back on the Temple.

Feeling that my burden of secret guilt weighed less heavily upon me, I returned to my tiny room in the Hall of Justice. There was a stack of books from the Temple Library that awaited me there, and I hoped that they would drive the words of _The Black Glove_ from my mind....

\----

Several days passed uneventfully. As before, my nights were plagued with nightmares, from the moment I closed my eyes until I either woke at dawn to begin my day, or jerked awake with a strangled gasp and a pounding heart. My days, though foggy in my memory for lack of rest, were mercifully free of any contact with the Morag Tong. I prayed, drilled with my new brothers in the Order of War, studied texts from the library, took occasional shifts on the Watch, and did my best to put Amurah Llenith out of my thoughts. Sometimes, my attempts at that were successful.

Other times, however, a vision of her would appear unbidden in my mind: a memory of her in in Hlormaren, glancing at me over her bare shoulder, or sliding through the night as silent and smoothly as a shadow. The memories took me by surprise each time they came, and it was a struggle to banish them from my thoughts.

As the days passed, this happened less and less often, and I began to believe that I'd overthrown whatever hold Mephala and the Guild had on me.

That was, of course, a foolish assumption.

Early one morning, I was called before Aroa Nethalen, my official superior in the Order of War, and given orders: I was being dispatched to Azura's Coast. Reports from the area indicated that the blasphemous Sixth House Cult had set up camp in a cave called Salmantu. I was to investigate, and dispatch any cultists I found there.

"Use caution, Brother Sul," Nethalen advised me. "Most of these cultists, though violent, are weak and easily overcome... but sometimes, they can surprise you. However, Salmantu is a small cave, and there shouldn't be many of them. This will be a good task for you to familiarize yourself with the kinds of foes you'll be dealing with in your new duties... quite different from petty thieves on Vivec's streets, I assure you."

Across the room, Elam Andas _harrumphed_ disapprovingly. He'd been eying me while Nethalen gave me my orders, and it made me uneasy.

"I don't doubt it, sir," I murmured, taking the folded map and small purse of gold Nethalen handed me.

Thus, by midmorning that day, laden with healing potions and provisions for the journey, I found myself stepping off the silt strider in Molag Mar. I didn't linger in the city, but struck out immediately to the northeast, knowing that it would take the better part of the day to reach the tiny peninsula on which Salmantu was located.

Molag Mar is situated at the southern edge of the Molag Amur region, a barren, ashy expanse of volcanic rocks. There was little to see as I walked. So close to the border between the Ashlands and more fertile ground, conditions were less than ideal for creatures from both areas.

Despite the barren view, it was a pleasant day, warm and sunny, though a dark line of clouds on the western horizon hinted at approaching bad weather. I made good time, and found I was enjoying myself. It was rare for me to be so truly alone and isolated. I kept my thoughts fixed firmly on the sorts of things upon which an Ordinator would be expected to meditate, and enjoyed the solitude.

It didn't last, however. Some few hours past noon, the sky was darkening under the encroaching storm front as I emerged onto the grassy terrain of the coast. Somehow, I was not surprised to see Amurah sitting with her back against the wall of a Daedric ruin, peeling the skin from an ash yam with one of her myriad blades. She sat cross-legged, ready to spring to her feet at a moment's notice, and she froze when she saw me approaching.

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd show yourself," I said, truthfully, as I strode past her without stopping.

I could feel her eyes on me as I passed her, staring at me. I didn't see her move, didn't hear her get up when she was behind me, but I saw her shadow creeping up next to me. This was becoming familiar, having her fall into step beside me whether I wanted it or not, and I clenched my teeth, wishing she would just turn around and leave me be.

"You are the last person I expected to see out here, Sul," she said, and even with the hint of anger in her voice, I felt a little thrill again at hearing her say my name. "What in the name of the Spider are you doing?"

"That's odd," I said coolly. "Somehow, _I_ knew that if I met anyone in this forsaken empty land, it would be you."

Amurah shot me a glare, and raised an eyebrow. Knowing that it would only make her suspicious if I refused to answer, I said, "I am going to exterminate a group of Sixth House cultists in a cave on the coast. And you?"

"I was headed in the opposite direction, just stopped to eat. I carried out an execution on an Ashlander hiding out near Sadrith Mora."

"Good," I said, in my best, inflectionless Ordinator voice. "Then there is no need for us to travel together. I have nothing to say to you, assassin, so you'd best turn around and continue on your way."

I expected her to be insulted, but she only snorted. "You're lucky I'm not easily offended, Ordinator," she said, her voice tinted with humor, this time. "I know a Guildmember or two who would kill over such rudeness."

I didn't want to hear about the Guild. "I have _nothing_ to say to you," I repeated stubbornly, refusing to look at her.

She was silent for a moment. "You read the book," she guessed quietly.

"Yes." I risked a glance, saw disappointment flicker briefly across her face. "I'm afraid I'll have to pay your Grandmaster the purchase price of a new one. The copy he lent me is somewhere at the bottom of the Inner Sea."

She laughed softly, casting me a bemused look. "He has other copies. Don't trouble yourself."

I didn't reply, and we walked on in silence for a few moments.

"Well," she said eventually. "Though you've turned down the Guild's offer, perhaps you won't mind some company. I've heard some nasty rumors about this Sixth House-"

I stopped in my tracks, beating back the frustration that reared up inside me. "No!" I said, nearly shouting. "I do not need or want company, or backup, or a Morag Tong assassin following me halfway across Vvardenfell, trying to tempt me away from my faith! Just... just leave me be. Do you understand?"

Her eyes narrowed, and a muscle jumped in her cheek. "I understand perfectly, Ordinator," she said in a tight voice. "I understand that the gods themselves have interwoven our two lives, and you have done nothing but try to unravel their work. I understand that your precious Temple has done nothing but throw you into situations you cannot handle, because you have become a problem they're eager to be rid of. I understand that I have endured sleepless nights, and waking visions, and life-threatening injuries while trying to do Mephala's bidding, and you have nothing but _gratitude_ for the help I've given you!"

"'Gratitude'?" I snapped. "As I recall, the last time you tried to help me, you sliced my ear open, proceeded to follow me against my wishes, and _I_ ended up saving your life. _You_ are not the one who is owed thanks!"

It was a petty thing to say, and I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. Amurah folded her arms across her chest and stared at me.

"And if I hadn't gone into Hlormaren with you?" She asked. "Would you have been the one wounded, with no one to guard your back? And would you have bled to death, alone, because you had no one there to tend it? Bloody Oblivion, Sul, I'm sorry I've been such a _hindrance_ to you. Good luck with the Sixth House; I don't know whether it'll be Mephala or your precious Tribunal who look after you. The gods know, _I'm_ through with you." She strode away, southward, her normally fluid grace hampered by the tension knotting her shoulders.

I watched her go with a mixture of relief and regret. I'd gotten my wish, finally, but I hadn't wanted to insult her. She _had_ helped me, after all, and that was a poor way to repay her. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance as she disappeared from view.

_It's over_ , I reassured myself, forcing my feet to carry me in the opposite direction. _You wanted her gone, and she's gone. Don't worry about how. With everything that she tried to do to you, it's no less than she deserves._

_\----_

I found Salmantu that evening without much trouble, just as the first cold raindrops were beginning to fall. After a last glance at the stormclouds and a last check of my supplies, I gripped my mace and ducked into the cave.

I stood blinking in the darkness for a moment, letting my eyes adjust. There were a few red candles flickering nearby, and I could see more of them further in the cave. Somewhere, incense was burning, an acrid scent. It did little to mask the stench of death and decay that hung about the place. I said a quick prayer to the saints and the Three for protection, and moved warily into the tunnels, my mace in hand.

There is little to tell of that first bit of the cave. I fought creatures I had before seen only in books: ash ghouls and ash slaves, even corprus beasts, creatures twisted by the tainted touch of Dagoth Ur. There were a few cultists there, too, all Dunmer, gone mad in their worship, attacking me with clubs and bare hands. I hated to kill them, for we were hardly well-matched opponents, but they gave me no choice. I learned, after the first two, that there would be no convincing them to see reason.

As I let another one fall dead at my feet, I paused to inspect my weapon, and reflected on the monstrosity of a "god" who would so disfigure his followers. I had to admit, even Mephala seemed merciful by comparison.

That was a dangerous line of thought, I realized, and I abandoned it quickly, making for the door to the shrine that stood before me. _Nearly finished_ , I told myself, bracing for whatever manner of foul creature I might find within the shrine.

Inside, the cloying, sickly-sweet odor of decay was stronger, deep enough to nearly make me gag. Grimacing, I hurried forward, hoping to empty the shrine quickly and be done with the place.

The chamber was silent, though warm, rancid air moved in a soft breeze. Like as not, it was only caused by volcanic fissures deeper in the cavern... but my imagination conjured an unpleasant image of some deformed follower of Dagoth Ur, blowing his fetid breath through the cave.

As it happened, my imagination was not far off. I emerged from a tunnel into a wide space, filled with two of the coffin-like pyres used for sacrifice, and a rack of massive iron bells. To one side stood the most hideous beast I had yet seen: shaped like a man, but wide and hunched over beneath its robes. It had a face that belonged to neither man nor mer, with multiple dark hollows for more than one pair of missing eyes, and tentacles that reached nearly to its feet. I froze in shock at seeing such a beast, and only narrowly managed to dodge the first spell of fire that it unleashed upon me.

Battle instinct overcame my shock, and I charged forward, sinking the spikes of my mace into its repulsive face with a yell. It swung at me, catching the side of my helm with an open-handed blow, and I felt a line of pain flare along my neck. The monster had split my skin, between the join of my helm and my cuirass. It cast a spell of frost at me that crackled over my armor, and I jerked my weapon free, stumbling back a step. The mace left gaping rents in the creature's flesh; the wounds hung open, bloodless and deep, not troubling it in the slightest. In contrast, I could feel my own blood seeping beneath my armor, from my neck.

Not sure what else to do, I swung at it again, landing a blow between what might have been two eye sockets. With an inhuman snarl, the beast slammed its fist into my armored chest. The impact bruised my cuirass against my flesh, and the sheer force of the blow sent me hurtling backward.

I fought to get my feet under me before I landed, but the monster had unleashed a spell of paralysis with the blow. I landed hard, limp as a rag, tumbling over one of the pyres and into the row of bells. Dazed and immobile, with spots dancing before my eyes and a cacophony of bells clamoring in my ears, I watched helplessly as the creature tore my mace loose from its own face and hurled it aside. It strode toward me with unhurried strides-- fortunately, I could feel my strength returning. As it closed the last few steps between us, I scrabbled for anything to use as a weapon, closing my fingers around the hook at the top of the largest bell. I surged to my feet and smashed the bell into its face with a loud _clang_.

That seemed to stun it; the creature staggered back a step, tentacles quivering in shock. I hit it again, forcing it back, far enough that I could reach my weapon. With my Temple-issued mace in one hand and a bell for Dagoth-worship in the other, I advanced on the monster, striking it again and again, with one weapon and then the other. It faltered, dropping to one knee, raising a hand in a plea.

I knew better than to offer mercy to such a creature... but still, the gesture cut through my battle-instincts, and I hesitated. It was only for an instant, but that was long enough for the monster to unleash a last curse. It let out a shivering, inhuman laugh, even dying under my hand, as the blight-curse settled upon me and corrupted my wits.

I lurched unsteadily, my limbs suddenly heavy and unresponsive. The bell slipped from my weakened fingers, and I struggled with all my might to keep my grip on my mace, though I couldn't remember why that was so important. The shrine spun in my vision, and the stench of the place filled my nostrils, making me want to gag. Behind the sudden, overwhelming disgust was the singular thought that I had to exit the cave, immediately. I stumbled for the door, my mace dragging across the rocks; I had not even the strength to carry it properly.

I don't know how I made it out of Salmantu. My armor had become unbearably heavy, and I moved as slowly and clumsily as a guar, driven only by the thought that I must get out. I don't remember retracing my steps to the cave entrance, but I remember emerging into dark chaos. The thunderstorm had hit hard while I'd been inside, and night had fallen early under the clouds. Rain lashed down, slanting in the roaring wind. Thunder was a constant rumble beneath the roar of the waves and the rain pouring into the sea. I lost my footing on the slippery grass, saw the ground rushing up at me in a flash of lightning. Unable to catch myself, I rolled down a slope and into the water.

With the only thought in my head still that I _had_ to get away, put as much distance between myself and the cursed cave as possible, I struck out for deeper water, even as my intolerably heavy armor threatened to drag me under. Faintly, over the din of the storm, I thought I heard a shout. I choked on water, sputtering, felt my head go under. Something solid bumped against my helm, and I clutched at it, struggling to find the surface of the water; then all I knew was cold, wet darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

I awoke in dim, flickering light, with an odd taste in my mouth. My neck felt as if it were on fire, blazing in pain the way only a wound bathed in salt water can blaze. I glanced around and felt a wave of dizziness hit me. I didn't recognize my surroundings, and they seemed to be tilted at unnatural angles. I could still hear the storm raging outside; inside my shelter, I could hear slow dripping, soft splashes of water. Cautiously, I turned my head. I wasn't wearing my helm. I could see it when I moved; it sat a few paces away, placed carefully upright next to an unfamiliar object.

I eased myself into a sitting position, trying to get my bearings in the oddly slanted room. _A ship,_ I realized belatedly, recognizing the curved shape of the sides. A ship that had been run aground, apparently. I was at the end of the vessel, and only a few paces away the deck was submerged.

I was alone. I frowned at the single candle that had been wedged into the bulkhead; I didn't remember lighting it. I didn't remember finding my way into the ship at all. It hadn't been long ago, though; I was still wet, and little rivulets of water trickled away from me, down the sloping boards of the deck.

I looked down at myself, checking my condition. My armor was intact, though the pouch that had carried my provisions was missing. I pulled off my gauntlets and felt gingerly at the wound on my neck. It was a long gash, but shallow, and had missed the artery. It didn't seem to be bleeding badly. With nothing to use for a bandage, I left it alone.

Leery of attempting to stand just yet, I inched sideways towards my helm. It seemed unharmed, and I set it aside, picking up the object that sat beside it.

_The Black Glove_.

I dropped the sodden book as if it were on fire, biting back a curse. It was hardly recognizable, its pages soaking wet and stuck together, all the ink washed out, but I knew the arachnoid insignia that was etched on its green cover.

_How in Vivec's name did it get_ here _?_ I thought, staring at it. The currents off Azura's Coast were said to be unpredictable... but what were the odds of the book finding its way directly back into my hands? The canted ship's hold swam dizzily around me once more, as again I felt the unmistakable touch of a god's hand set upon me. _Blessed Poet_ , I prayed silently, fighting back a whisper of fear in my head, _forgive me, but I do not understand your will in this. I fear that I am making all the wrong choices, and I am only falling farther down this slope away from you._

I stared at the salt-stained book, and wondered what had happened since I left Salmantu.

I got my answer a few minutes later. I heard faint, soft footsteps on the deck above me, barely audible over the din of the storm, and I knew, suddenly, exactly what must have happened. The trapdoor to the upper deck opened, letting in a blast of rain and thunder along with Amurah, who dropped past the steeply slanted stairs and landed with a splash, slamming the door shut behind her.

She sloshed out of the water towards me, with my mace in her hand. "You're awake," she observed, sounding unsurprised. She offered the weapon towards me, shaft first. "You dropped this outside; I didn't think you'd appreciate me leaving it there."

"...Thank you," I managed, bemused, taking the weapon. She was drenched, her brown hair plastered to her head. Her dark skin gleamed wetly in the dim candlelight. "What happened?" I asked, even though I didn't need to.

She sat down facing me, unconcerned with her wet clothing, leaning back against the bulkhead at an angle that must have been more comfortable than it looked. "I reached the cave just as you dropped into the sea, half-mad with the blight. I could see you were struggling, so I jumped in after you. By the time I caught hold of you, you were unconscious and I had lost my bearings in the dark. So, I just kept swimming, knowing we were bound to hit an island eventually. Came upon this wreck, instead, and that was even better, so I dragged you in here. I found the potions you were carrying and poured them down your throat. Got tired of waiting for you to wake up, so I went back up to get your mace."

"What made you come after me?" I asked.

Amurah hesitated. "I... I felt badly about leaving you to that nest of cultists by yourself. Though I shouldn't have, after the way you treated me," she added. She softened the words with a teasing smile, but I still wanted to cringe with guilt. "I thought I could at least make sure you weren't left bleeding to death in there, or something."

"Thank you," I said sincerely, thinking about how close I had come to drowning... And remembering our earlier exchange of words about _gratitude_.

To my surprise, she only shrugged uncomfortably. The tension was still there between us, waiting to burst forth in a moment's unguarded eye contact, and she looked away. Her gaze fell on the book instead, and she jerked her chin at it.

"You were hanging onto that the entire time," she said. "Not even your weapon made it all the way into the ship with you, but the book did. I thought... From what you'd said, I'd thought you dropped it in the sea long before."

"I did," I said softly. "I threw it off the Temple canton in Vivec, some days ago. I do not know how I came to find it here." That was untrue, of course; I had an idea of how it had happened, and she knew it, had the same idea. I could see it in her eyes, as she stared at the book thoughtfully.

"Strange," she said simply, and I might have laughed at the absurdity of that understatement, if it hadn't been my very way of life that was threatened by the gods' meddling.

An awkward silence fell between us. Amurah stood abruptly, pacing across the canted deck of the ship. She ran her hands through her hair, turning it into a tangle of wet curls and scattering water droplets around. "Hope this storm passes soon," she murmured, half to herself.

I raised my eyebrows. "You have somewhere else to be?"

She glanced at me. "No, but--" She frowned, and came closer. "Your neck is bleeding again." She crouched next to me, reaching for the wound.

I knew what would happen when she touched me, and I reacted without thinking, trying to stop her. It was foolish; I'd forgotten I wasn't wearing my gauntlets. I caught her slender wrist in my bare hand, and her lips parted in a startled gasp. She burst into my senses, her skin fiery-cool against my hand. I could smell the saltwater that clung to her, could hear her very heartbeat. Both of us froze, staring at each other, with that inexplicable energy sizzling between us.

Her eyes were shadowed, a deep burgundy. "You should probably let me go, Sul," she said softly.

"Yes," I agreed, but my hand betrayed me, refusing to release her. My thumb caressed her skin, feeling the pulse throbbing between the delicate bones of her wrist.

_What are you doing to me, Amurah?_ I wondered silently, suddenly captivated by the movement of her mouth as she licked her lips. "What about your vows?" she breathed.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from hers. For the first time, I allowed myself to wonder what would happen if I were to break my vows, and I wondered if _that_ had been the subject of all those breathless dreams that I could not remember. I stared at her, and came to a decision.

"It seems, Amurah," I said softly, enjoying the way her name tasted on my tongue, "that no matter how I turn away, the gods conspire to throw you back into my path. I do not know which god or gods it may be... but who am I to argue?"

A smile graced her lips, and her eyes sparkled. She said nothing, only came willingly when I pulled her into my arms, and pressed her lips to mine.

You can guess what came next, I think. I lost myself in her, forgetting my vows, my obligations, _her_ obligations... For a few blissful hours, while the sea crashed about us and the storm thundered above, the world consisted only of Amurah Llenith and I, in the crooked hold of a lonely shipwreck. I pressed her against the slanting deck and made love to her, and I had never imagined that there would be such joy in abandoning the very vows that defined me.

The candle burnt itself out before we had finished, and the storm began to recede. In the darkness, I could hear her every gasp, every whispered encouragement. Everywhere we touched, it was as if I were being remade. Her hands and lips drew away every trace of the Tribunal's touch that had been layered upon me since I was a child; every movement pulled me farther and farther from the Temple. I was lost without my ties to the Temple, adrift, and she became my anchor... and I could not have cared less. I traced my fingertips over her scars, finding the new one on her lower back that I had cared for, and wondered if I was doing the same to her ties to Mephala. And then, I met her eyes, gleaming in the faint light, and I no longer cared enough to wonder.

\----

I awoke in golden lines of sunlight that streamed through cracks in the side of the ship. Something was odd, and it took me a moment to realize that I _hadn't_ awoken out of a nightmare, for the first time in many weeks. I lay on my side, and Amurah was curled against my chest, facing me. Memories of the previous night came rushing back to me, and I lay there for a long time, listening to Amurah's breathing and wondering how I felt. I hadn't quite reached a decision when I shifted to a more comfortable position. Immediately, I felt her muscles tense, snapping into alertness. Her eyes opened, gazing up at me. "Good morning," she murmured, almost making it a question.

I hesitated, and the silence began to weigh uncomfortably between us. I could see a flicker of worry in her eyes. "It is," I made myself say, and then realized it was the truth. I bent my head and kissed her, awkward with inexperience, but she didn't seem to mind.

I could feel the tide of desire rising in me once more, and made myself pull away. "No regrets?" Amurah asked softly.

"No," I replied. I traced a fingertip along the faint scar on her cheek, even though I knew I should leave her be. "But... it can't happen again, Amurah."

A corner of her mouth twisted in a rueful smile. "I thought you might say that," she said. "In that case, I'll just be grateful for the night we had, and hope I can eventually persuade you otherwise." She sat up abruptly, grinning, and reached for the nearest of her scattered clothing. I followed suit, buckling my armor in place, working carefully around the wound on my neck.

"We should hurry, if we're going to make it back to Vivec before too late in the day," she said. "Eno Hlaalu will want to see you."

Confused, I paused in the act of pulling on my left boot. "Because we--?"

Amurah rolled her eyes at me. "To receive your oath and accept you into the Guild, Sul."

I blinked at her. "I am not joining the Morag Tong," I said clearly.

Half-dressed, she placed a hand on her hip and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Oh, no? I _thought_ you said you weren't going to argue with the gods any longer. As wondrous as last night was, you and I both know that Mephala has bigger plans for you than spending a night with me in a half-sunk boat." She flashed me a brilliant smile. "Though I'm certainly not complaining..."

I felt my face flushing, and pulled my boot on with a sharp jerk. I had no reply for her, so I said nothing, and we finished dressing in silence while I thought about her words.

Outside the ship, the sun shone from a clear blue sky, and the air was calm in the wake of last night's storm. It seemed the same as every other day, which was strange to me... _I_ felt different, and it was odd that the world remained constant, when I had changed so much.

Amurah emerged from the trapdoor behind me, with the ruined copy of _The Black Glove_ in her hand. "Don't want this?" She asked, waving it at me.

"No," I said. "Take it back to your Grandmaster for me. And... tell him that I apologize for its condition."

"I will." She smiled. "He'll enjoy the story."

_No doubt_ , I thought. I could guess what he would say, too: something about Mephala's webstrings drawing tighter about me, I was sure. I cast a surreptitious glance at Amurah, and wondered what I was going to do.

\----

We approached Molag Mar a few hours after noon. It had been a pleasant walk, after we'd swum to dry ground. When we weren't traveling in comfortable silence, Amurah shared details about life in the Morag Tong, customs and practices of the Guild. I knew, while I listened and asked questions, that she thought she was grooming me for my acceptance into the Guild, but she didn't mention it outright. She offered information freely, and I listened despite myself.

Some distance from the city wall, I stopped. "We probably shouldn't be seen together," I pointed out. "I'll wait here for half an hour; that should give you time to enter the city first and be seen _without_ me before I arrive."

She laughed, invoking her invisibility spell, fading from sight. "You won't be rid of me that easily."

"Very well," I said to the empty air. "But keep silent. An Ordinator appearing to talk to himself would attract even more notice than one in the company of an assassin."

"Do I tell you how to do _your_ job, Ordinator?" came her disembodied voice, sounding miffed.

I fought down the urge to mimic her characteristic, unconcerned shrug, and headed toward the city, acutely aware that she hovered somewhere near me. True to her word, she said nothing, and as I made my way through the city, stopping at a street vendor to purchase a meal, I had no way of knowing if she was still with me.

There were no empty spaces on the silt strider that transported me to Vivec, and I began to wonder if Amurah had stayed behind. The other passengers eyed me warily and left me alone, which suited me. I stared across the animal's broad carapace, watching the coastline pass with each lurching step, and thought long and hard about the choice I would make when I reached the Holy City.

There was no question of what I _should_ do, of course. My first and only obligation was to the Temple, the faith that had raised me and trained me since I was a child. I had already broken my vows-- I was probably still breaking them in principle simply by remaining in Amurah's company-- but the Three were merciful, and were known to forgive a mortal's mistakes.

However, the fact remained that I had never felt the touch of Vivec upon me the way I felt Mephala's. I had devoted my life to the Tribunal, and yet it was an androgynous Daedra who spoke to me, enfolded me in its shadow.

_Faithless_ , I thought to myself, disgusted. _Will you turn away from the Three for that reason alone? Because they do not deign to speak to you, but a false god does?_

But, that was not the only reason. I frowned, thinking about the way I had felt drawn to Amurah, and the way that now, after spending a night in her arms, I _still_ felt that draw, as if I hadn't gone quite far enough. _"Mephala has bigger plans for you than spending the night with me,"_ Amurah had said, and I was beginning to believe she was right. Had our lovemaking been only a means to an end for the Daedra? I couldn't see why a god would throw us into such a situation for its own sake, now that I considered it. I didn't want to think about that, didn't want to devalue the memory of what had made me break my vows... but there it was.

And there was the book. Surely Mephala couldn't have guided a single book through the currents around the island directly to me, not if Vivec opposed it. I'd thrown it into the waters of _his_ own city, after all.

Was it possible... was Mephala doing _Vivec's_ bidding? The thought made my head spin. If that were so, was Vivec testing my faith, or did he truly want me to follow the Spider? Was there some mission I was to undertake for him, some intrigue against the Daedra that he was playing so deeply he could not reveal it more plainly? Or was I looking too hard, trying to find a compromise to appease both my conscience and my desires?

I wished I could speak to someone, a priest who would be knowledgeable about such things, without arousing suspicion. I had heard that elsewhere in the Empire, there were priests of other faiths who would counsel the devout with assurances of confidentiality, but the Tribunal had no such provision. If I went to a priest on Vvardenfell with my concerns, I would find myself turned over to the Order of Inquisition before I could blink.

With nothing else to do, I prayed for the rest of the journey. I prayed to Vivec, and Almalexia, and Sotha Sil, and all the saints, begging their forgiveness and pleading for guidance.

By the time we reached the city, as the sun sank into the western sea and long shadows patterned the ground, I had chosen. I outpaced the rest of the passengers as they strolled toward the entrance to the Foreign Quarter, and I entered the City alone-- or so I thought. Amurah reappeared at my side when I let myself into the storage area below the Arena; she had followed me the entire time.

She said nothing, only unlocked the trapdoor that led to the Guildhall. The place was silent as she led me through its halls; I saw Mephala's priest gaze at me with knowing eyes as I passed, but no others seemed to be about. Amurah led me wordlessly to Eno Hlaalu's quarters, and paused outside the door. "Remove your helm," she advised softly. "He'll want to see your face."

I bowed my head and drew in a deep breath. _Blessed Poet forgive me if I err, but I am doing what I believe is best,_ I prayed quickly, and lifted the helm from my head. I handed it to Amurah, and she ushered me inside, closing the door behind me.

All thoughts of Vivec and the Temple fled my mind then; I could barely hear Hlaalu's words over the rushing of blood in my ears. I again felt the touch of Mephala on my skin. I had nearly grown accustomed to it, learned to ignore it, but now my skin crawled again under the imagined shadow that covered me. I don't remember the words I spoke, but they were enough for the Grandmaster, who bade me kneel before him and repeat the vow that he recited for me.

I did it, my heart pounding in my chest. When I'd finished, Eno Hlaalu extended a calloused hand, pulling me to my feet and welcoming me into the Morag Tong. He said something encouraging, that I hardly heard. Mephala's hand on me was lighter now, a tiny seed in my mind, and in the absence of its weight, I realized the enormity of what I'd done. I took my leave of the Grandmaster, feeling a little dazed.

Amurah was waiting for me in the hall, my helm in her hand. She held it out to me; I took it, but for once I didn't put it back on immediately. There seemed to be no point in hiding behind the mask.

"You should go home," she suggested. "Before someone reports seeing you enter the City, and people start to wonder why you haven't gone to the Temple."

"You're right," I realized, trying to clear my head. "I'll... I can find the way out."

"Good," she smiled. "You don't need an escort now, you belong here. I'll see about getting you a key."

"...Thank you," I said, because it seemed the only thing to say. We looked at each other for a long moment.

"No regrets?" she asked again, and I knew the question encompassed more than it had the last time she asked.

"No regrets," I said honestly. "Just guilt."

She smiled her insolent grin. "Ah, well," she said, clapping me companionably on the shoulder, "you're the pious type. You're used to it."

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Mercifully, my nights were once again my own when I'd returned to Vivec. I went straightaway to Aroa Nethalen and made my report, leaving out all mention of Amurah, of course. I said that I'd taken the blight cures myself immediately, lost my bearings in the storm and blundered aboard the shipwreck. There, I'd waited out the weather and returned as soon as possible. The lies fell from my lips with frightening ease, and Nethalen expressed no suspicion. And why should he? He had no cause to doubt me. I thought I saw, though, through the open door to the next room, that Elam Andas was watching me surreptitiously. Like as not, it was only my own guilt that was making me imagine such things.

After being dismissed, I went immediately to my tiny room and slept the sleep of the dead. Dreamless and undisturbed for nearly eleven hours, I awoke feeling more rested than I had in weeks. Though not certain which deity deserved my gratitude, I spoke a quick prayer of thanks to Vivec. Despite all that had happened, I couldn't bring myself to address Mephala, not yet.

Life settled into its previous routine, though there was always the knowledge of my new status, hidden away behind every word I spoke, every duty I performed, every prayer I offered. I learned to live with it, over a number of weeks... Learned how to not startle guiltily when spoken to unexpectedly; learned how to pray to the saints and the Three without revealing the taint of hypocrisy I felt on my soul. It never truly ceased, but it became easier to bear.

I didn't see Amurah for some time, though she was often in my thoughts. I had new memories of her to invade my mind, now... images of her moving beneath me, bare skin gleaming in the light of a single candle, or asleep beside me, in the early morning sunlight. I had to try very hard to ignore those thoughts when they appeared, but it wasn't impossible, and I nearly began to think the entire mission had been only another dream

\----

About three weeks after I'd broken my vows, and been accepted into the Morag Tong, I had just been relieved of an overnight shift on the Watch and was headed to the Temple to perform my devotions. A group of pilgrims was leaving the Temple from morning devotions, crowding the corridor in an unorganized mess. I nearly strode past them without a second glance, until my gaze fell on one unmistakably tall, graceful figure.

Amurah had forgone her netch leather armor for a plain skirt and shirt. She was wearing a scarf tied under her chin, demurely covering her unruly brown hair and the scar on her cheek. I nearly didn't recognize her, but I knew that jolt when our eyes met across the heads of the pilgrims who crowded between us. I froze, as the group moved past me, chattering among themselves. Amurah maneuvered her way to closer to me, and turned her head away, appearing to run into me without looking.

"Oh! My apologies, ser!" She blurted, sounding for all the world like a flustered peasant. She laid a hand on my arm and smiled broadly. "Do forgive my clumsiness, I'm afraid I wasn't watching where I was going." Her other hand slipped something into my fingers; I clenched my fist around it unthinking.

"Move along," I said gruffly. She flashed me a last fleeting, intense glance, and turned away. I did the same, striding away without looking back. I bypassed the Temple entrance and made instead for the privacy of my quarters.

I passed my old friend Rogis in the corridor; I must have been rude, because I don't even remember if I spoke to him or not. I was too preoccupied with the thoughts spinning in my head: that the Guild had some communication for me that couldn't wait for a more opportune time; that Amurah was daring enough to disguise herself and enter the very Temple in order to get it directly to me. Certainly the Temple was open to all devout citizens, and the other Ordinators would have had no reason to see through her disguise, but it still troubled me that she had succeeded so easily.

My heart began to pound erratically once I had shut myself in my room and unrolled the note in my hand. It was a Writ.

_Toris Saren_

_The afore-mentioned personage has been marked for honorable execution in accordance to the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong Guild. The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned license to kill the afore-mentioned personage._

Several curses-- ones I hadn't realized I knew-- floated through my mind. I crumpled the parchment in my fist, wondering how far this madness would go on. _What did you expect?_ Asked a small voice inside me. _You_ are _an assassin of the Morag Tong, after all. An Associate, Hlaalu called you. Why did you join, if not to perform executions?_

_Murders_ , I corrected myself. No matter how many official seals and "sanctioned licenses" were involved, the Guild's work was nothing more than glamorized murder, at least according to the Temple, which was the only opinion I should care about. I glared down at the crinkled Writ, seething.

There was something written on the other side of the parchment. I frowned and carefully un-crumpled it. _The Guildhall_ , it read, scrawled hastily in a messy hand that I guessed was Amurah's. _After moonrise, tomorrow evening._

I swallowed back a few more choice curses that wanted to escape, taking in a deep breath instead. Tomorrow evening. I had a day and a half to decide what I was going to do...

\----

I went, of course. I don't know why there was an uncertainty about it; even then I was aware of how far I was sliding, and how powerless I was to resist Amurah's summons. The brief glimpse I'd had of her in the Temple had served to open the floodgates, and all the memories I thought I'd banished came rushing back. It was fortunate that I had no important duties to attend, because all I could think about was _her_ , with both trepidation and eagerness. When darkness fell on the following evening, I was in my room, pacing to and fro, tension making knots of the muscles in my neck and shoulders.

The moon would rise not long after sunset, and I saw little point in waiting longer. I had already checked several times that the Writ was concealed safely on my person, out of sight. With a last glance about my room, I left.

I passed Elam Andas in the corridor, and greeted him politely. I refused to acknowledge the tiny, guilty jolt of fear that shot through me when I saw him. "Good evening, sir."

There was no reason for him to stop and talk; the Chief of the Watch was not known for his courtesy to Ordinators of my station, so far beneath his own rank. But stop he did. "Good evening, Brother Sul. Are you taking a shift tonight?" He frowned, knowing I wasn't on the roster for duty that evening.

"No, sir," I replied, managing to sound as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "Just going out for a walk. I've been studying most of the day, and I thought some fresh air would do me good."

"I see." His scarlet eyes seemed to bore into me, and I resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. "Enjoy your walk, Brother Sul," he said finally.

I gave him a nod of thanks and murmured something polite, turning away. I could swear I felt his stare fixed on my back as I left him behind; I knew he was still standing there, watching me and wondering.

_Nonsense_ , I told myself. _You're becoming paranoid about your secrets, that is all._

It was a relief to set foot outside the Temple and breathe the cool evening air. I wanted to hurry, impatient to meet Amurah, but I forced myself to walk slowly. _You're simply out for a stroll,_ I reminded myself. _Enjoying the weather. You're not in a rush to go anywhere in particular._

I made my way to the storage area underneath the Arena, which was where I found Amurah. She looked more herself, in her dark netch leather armor, sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, a short sword balanced across her knees.

She rose gracefully to her feet when I entered. A smile flashed briefly across her features, before she covered it with an emotionless mask, the professionalism of a Morag Tong assassin. "Associate Sul Daerys, you have been issued a Writ of Execution. Do you accept?" she asked formally.

I hesitated, wondering if there was a certain protocol I should observe with my reply. "No," I said, deciding that simplicity was best. "I can't, Amurah. I cannot do this." I pulled out the crumpled parchment and held it out to her.

She pressed her lips together and folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the proffered Writ. "You swore an oath, Ordinator," she said, her voice cool.

I let my hand drop. "Yes," I admitted. "But-"

"Do the men of the Temple not keep their word, Sul Daerys?" asked a soft, rasping voice from the shadows. I flinched, startled; I'd thought Amurah and I were alone. It was Eno Hlaalu's voice, I realized belatedly. I scanned the dark corners of the room, looking for the source of the voice, but I saw no one.

"We do," I replied calmly, refusing to be baited. "I swore an oath to the Morag Tong because I believed it was the gods' will. I also have sworn an oath to the Temple, which supersedes all others."

Movement flickered in the dimness; Hlaalu shifted just enough for me to see a faint outline of his form. I suddenly realized the danger I was facing; this was a Grandmaster of assassins, trained for a lifetime to kill swiftly and silently, in dark places such as this.

"A convenient excuse," he said flatly. "Do you make a habit of swearing allegiance with no intention of honoring it, knowing you can hide behind the precedence of your Tribunal oaths?"

That angered me, but I kept silent, and glanced at Amurah. She was watching Hlaalu, with a look of barely disguised consternation. Her knuckles were white, clenched around the grip of her weapon.

The Grandmaster leaned forward, just enough that his unblinking eyes caught the faint light, glittering like polished stone. "You will have difficulty serving two masters, Sul Daerys. No one denies this fact... but your other choice will be no easier. If you will not honor your word, I will have no alternative but to inform the Temple-- in great detail-- that they have an oathbreaker in their ranks."

Fury rose in me at his words, that he would dare blackmail me so. "They will not believe you," I said tightly. "The word of an assassin over one of their own? They will see it only as an attempt to dishonor the Temple."

Hlaalu only raised an eyebrow, staring at me. I thought of the suspicion in Elam Andas' eyes that evening, and suddenly felt less sure of myself. Was it only my imagination that told me he mistrusted me, or would he seize upon any opportunity to investigate my secrets?

After a moment of silence, Hlaalu shrugged slightly, a graceful lifting of a shoulder. "The choice is yours, Associate. If that particular Writ is unsatisfactory, you may be issued a different one; but you _will_ perform an execution this night, or be named to your Temple as an oathbreaker." His voice switched to the formal manner that Amurah had first used. "Do you accept?"

The Writ crinkled in my hand as I clenched my fist around it, thinking. My mace was a sudden, insistent weight at my belt. _There is no one here to see,_ a small voice whispered at me. _Think what a blow would be dealt to the Temple's enemies if Hlaalu were to be killed!_

I glanced from him to Amurah, reading the tensions they both showed, and realized they knew what I was considering. Amurah moved slightly, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet. Our gazes met, and I could see the plea in her eyes.

There was no way I could defeat the both of them, I realized; and I could feel that dizziness pressing at me again. There was a god's hand in this, and I didn't believe it was Hlaalu that I was supposed to kill tonight.

"Yes," I said through gritted teeth. "I accept." _And Vivec forgive me for what I am about to do._

Eno Hlaalu nodded, as if he had expected nothing less. "A wise decision. Good hunting to you." He exchanged a wordless glance with Amurah, before making his way to the Morag Tong quarters, leaving us alone in the storage room.

Amurah relaxed visibly, letting out a long breath and sheathing the blade she held. "I told him you wouldn't try anything stupid," she said. "I'm glad I was right."

I frowned at her. "Would you truly have fought me, if I'd attacked?"

Amurah paused in the act of retrieving a bundle of cloth from a nearby barrel, and looked at me levelly. "Would you have been willing to kill me if I had?"

I opened my mouth to reply, and realized I didn't know. It should have been an easy answer... but the thought of Amurah dying at my hand, even if it was in defense of my own life, sent a cold arrow of dread through my heart. "I don't know. You didn't answer my question."

She hesitated. "I swore an oath to obey the Grandmaster of my Guild, and I honor it," she said softly, adding pointedly, "You would do well to follow that example." She shoved the bundle into my arms. "Put these on. We can't have an assassin performing executions while wearing Indoril armor."

Deciding that I had nothing to hide that Amurah had not seen already, I put aside my Temple-bred sense of propriety and stripped off my armor. I left it in a neat stack and donned the leather armor that she had brought me. I could feel her eyes on me as I dressed, and when I finished I saw her watching me, a corner of her lips quirked in a half-smile.

The armor felt strange and unfamiliar against my skin. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to get accustomed to its lightweight feel. Amurah came towards me, holding a matching helm and the short sword she'd held earlier. She handed them both to me, saying, "The Guild loans you this sword, to avoid awkward questions about your Tribunal weapons. Toris Saren lives with his family in the Redoran Plaza." She held out the Writ, and I took it reluctantly, tucking the helm under my arm.

"Why... what did he do, to bring this fate upon himself?" I asked softly, wondering if I were about to kill someone's father, someone's son or brother, for no more than his enemy's frivolous whim.

Amurah pressed her lips together. "It's not usually discussed. We do not pass judgment, only put it into effect. But Toris Saren is known for skooma trafficking, and his death shouldn't strain your conscience too badly, Ordinator."

"A life is a life," I murmured. "Even he may be shown mercy by-"

She jabbed a slender finger against my chest. " _You_ considered killing Eno Hlaalu, just because he threatened to expose your secrets. You're not in a position to preach of saving lives and showing mercy."

_True enough_ , I realized, and fell silent. Amurah's fingers fussed with my armor, tightening a buckle here, loosening a strap there. "Saren's family knows about the Writ on his head. The fool has had ample time to flee the city-- not that it would do him any good. His family should not interfere; he has been heard to say that he can defend his own life with ease. He is arrogant and boastful, which will impair his judgment, but he is skilled with a blade. It'll be hard to surprise him in his own house, but you're a better fighter than he is-- I've seen him in the Arena. You'll be fine."

Absurdly, I felt like a child, being readied by a doting older sister before being sent out into the world, alone for the first time... Then she leaned forward to kiss me, and the feelings _that_ aroused were anything but brotherly. I raised my hands to push her away, but she stepped back of her own accord before I touched her. "Go on," she urged me, smiling. "I'll take your things to the shrine for safekeeping, and then meet you in Redoran. Try not to get yourself reported to the other Ordinators before I catch up to you. I can take responsibility and spare you the risk of being recognized, but only if I'm there when they find you."

I nodded, and made myself turn away, lowering the helm over my face and hoping against hope that I was doing the right thing.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

The assassination was easy. Easier than I'd expected, easier than it should have been, for a man raised to follow the Tribunal's teachings. Saren's family let me into the manor without argument, trusting in his boasts, that soon they would be carrying _my_ lifeless body out to the street. I found Toris Saren in his bedchamber, awaiting me with an enchanted sword and a cocky grin as I closed the door behind me.

My own, borrowed sword felt strange in my hand, an unfamiliar weight and balance. _I_ felt strange, half-fogged, as though I had drunk a bad bottle of shein. The dark touch of Mephala had alighted on me; I could feel it, urging me on, tugging me toward the dead man who stood smiling at me in the middle of the room. Odd details impressed themselves onto my mind: a flicker of light on a ring he wore, the brocade stitching of his shirt.

He rushed me, weapon flashing. I sidestepped, and he reversed the strike, blade slicing a shallow gash across my leather cuirass. My hand moved of its own accord... almost. I knew well enough what I was doing, though it seemed a dream. A feint towards his abdomen that made him leap back, another towards his head that he parried easily. Then a surprise thrust, in and out, slipping between his ribs, through his heart, and back again. I had already stepped out of reach before the blood began to bloom on his shirt.

Toris Saren wavered on his feet, looked down at his wound, looked up at me, and died. I shuddered as emotions warred within me: guilt and bloodlust, shame and power. For an instant, I felt Mephala's grip tighten, as if a clawed hand clenched my throat, before the touch was gone abruptly, leaving me with my victim.

_The sword_ , I thought stupidly. It was on loan to me, and I shouldn't return it to the Guild soiled in blood. _Then again_ , I thought bleakly, _it sounds like the sort of gesture they'd appreciate._ I knelt by Saren's crumpled form to wipe the blade clean with a dry corner of his shirt. His eyes, paled to a dead pink, stared at me accusingly, and I shut his eyelids gently. _Vivec forgive me,_ I begged silently. _Guide this man's soul to rest._

I expected trouble from the family, and braced myself for an attempt to push my way out of the manor without injuring anyone. I needn't have worried. They crowded into the room when I opened the door, giving me a wide berth but otherwise ignoring me, hurrying to Toris' body. Wails arose behind me as I left, and someone, a sister or a lover, perhaps, began to sob hysterically. I hurried from the house as fast as I could, but the woman's grief was already etched into my memory.

Outside, I froze. An Ordinator stood not five paces away, his back to me. Anger flared when I realized who was speaking with him. _She would betray me, after everything I've--_ But no, I realized. Amurah was only distracting him, preventing him from turning around and seeing me emerge from the manor. Her hand flickered, as if she were demonstrating something to the guard, but I caught the subtle gesture and turned away quickly, heading in the direction she'd indicated.

As before, I felt horribly exposed, crossing the streets of Vivec without my uniform. If I were recognized... I didn't want to think about it. I walked with purposeful strides, hoping I looked like a man with business to attend, not a loiterer who should be questioned by the guards. The leather helm obscured my face, but I couldn't shake the fear that someone would stop me, demand I remove it. Worry, and Toris Saren's death, weighed on my shoulders, urging me to move quickly.

Amurah caught up to me in the bowels of the Arena canton, and we entered the storage rooms together. "Well done," she said, closing the door behind us.

The leather helm that had hidden me from the eyes of the guards now seemed stifling, constricting. I wrenched it from my face, scraping my chin on a metal buckle. Amurah looked at me, searchingly, and I could feel my heartbeat stutter when our eyes met.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly.

Something broke, finally, within me. The full impact of what I had just done... it slammed into me, threatened to swallow me whole. I felt my lip twist in a snarl, and I hurled the helm across the room. It hit the far wall and slid to the floor. "No!" I snapped. "I just murdered a man, Amurah! Against everything I've been raised to believe, every ideal I've been trained to uphold..."

She didn't move, but I saw the shifting tension in her muscles as she eyed me, wary of my anger. "The first is always hard," she said. "It gets easier, Sul."

I grimaced. What sort of monster would I be, by the time the act of murder became _easy_?

Was Amurah that monster already?

She must have guessed what I was thinking, for she shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm not saying I take it lightly," she explained, almost apologetically. "But it's my job."

"It isn't mine," I said, beginning to unfasten the rest of the armor, dropping bracers and pauldrons to the floor.

"You don't have a choice," she said, her voice turning harsh. "You already made it, when you swore your oath to Mephala."

Fury rose in me, threatened to choke me. It wasn't aimed at her, at least not most of it, but that didn't stop me from glaring at her. "I would be grateful if you would return my armor," I managed, through gritted teeth.

Her eyes narrowed, but she went to get it, leaving me alone. As soon as she was gone, my heart-twisting guilt roared out of hiding, threatening to overwhelm me. I let out a shuddering gasp, almost a sob, wishing I dared just collapse against the wall and beg Vivec's forgiveness. _Not yet,_ I told myself sternly. _Control yourself. When you're back in your own quarters, alone,_ then _you can feel. Not now._ I walled away the guilt and anger, clenching my fists. When Amurah returned, her arms full of my Indoril armor, my face was stony and emotionless, though I'm sure my eyes still blazed.

She said nothing while I dressed, and wordlessly handed me my weapons when I was finished. I buckled them in place and fixed her with another hard glare. "Do not bring me any more Writs, Amurah," I said, and left before she could respond.

\----

Amurah obeyed the letter of my wish, if not the spirit. Several days after Toris Saren's death at my hands, after the guilt had faded from a sharp, throbbing pain to a dull ache, I found a rolled parchment slipped under my door when I awoke. The following week, an ornately robed Telvanni asked me for directions to St. Delyn, and produced a Writ from his voluminous sleeve, pressing it unobtrusively into my hand as if thanking me for my assistance. Some days after that, it was a supposedly drunken Altmer that fell out of a gondola; while I struggled to haul him out of the canal, he fixed me with a completely lucid stare and wedged an oilskin-wrapped scroll into the shoulder joint of my armor, so quickly that the crowd of onlookers saw nothing but an intoxicated man's panicked flailings.

Every one of them sat in my possession for a day or two, like a burning coal in my pocket. There was little work for me to do for the Order of War, so I spent my time wandering the Temple restlessly while I struggled against the memory of Amurah's words. _You don't have a choice. You already made it, when you swore your oath to Mephala._ Every one of the men and women named in the Writs died at my hands, eventually. I would remember my bold claim, that I could not argue with the gods... At night, Mephala would agree with me, drawing her web tight around me until I felt my very breath grow short, until I rose and walked the streets in shadows to do the Daedra's will.

And after each murder, I felt that same rush as before, the euphoria that had been mentioned in the book of the Morag Tong. _The blood of the hunter and the blood of the hunted...The joy of the living and the joy of the dead._

However, my "joy", such as it was, was tempered with guilt after each death. When I returned to the storage room under Arena canton, the rush of power would be fading. By the time I replaced my borrowed leather disguise in its crate and donned my own armor, Mephala's touch would have withdrawn, leaving me with the terrible feeling that I had been mistaken about my own god's wishes in the matter. I would return to my room, unable to sleep, too wracked by guilt. I would spend the next few days in prayer and meditation, until the blade of my shame was once more dulled to a bearable level... and it would begin all over again, with another covertly delivered Writ.

After I'd fulfilled the Writ given me by the Altmer, Amurah herself delivered the next one. She found me outside the city at sundown; Nethalen had sent me to deliver a message in Ebonheart earlier that day. I wasn't expected back in the Temple until my Watch shift the next morning, and I'd stopped to sit at the shore, watching the sun set into the sea.

Over the gentle lapping of the waves, I heard her approach, and that was a more generous consideration than what she usually afforded me. I ignored her, though, refusing to meet her eyes, refusing to let the god-contrived passion between us be re-lit.

Amurah paused a few paces away; when it became apparent that I wasn't going to acknowledge her presence, she came closer and sat next to me, stretching her long legs out toward the water.

"There's a rumor going around the city," she said eventually. "They say there's a new assassin in the Morag Tong, an executioner who inhabits the shadows like the Spider herself, who wears leather armor and falls upon his prey so silently that they never know what's happened until they are lying in their own blood."

I cringed inwardly at her words, but she could have been describing any member of the Guild, and I refused to rise to her bait. When I didn't respond, she added, "They also say that he is tortured within his soul, by the work he does for Mephala. He offers up prayers for each of his dead, and for his own forgiveness, after every execution."

I shot her a startled glance. It was true, but I hadn't realized anyone knew. "Have you been spying on me?" I asked harshly.

"Not I," she said cryptically. "I've been out of the city for some time; but I hear things, on the streets. I'm surprised _you_ haven't heard it. You must be careful, Sul... this is the sort of rumor that might make the Temple suspicious."

Remembering Eno Hlaalu's promise to report me to the Temple, I stared resolutely out across the water, where the sun still sank into the water, reflecting a long path of gold across the waves. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a _warning_ ," she said, exasperated. "Gods, Sul... you know the Temple, how it works... What do _you_ think they'll do, if they hear enough rumors about an assassin who knows their prayers like one of their own priests? Won't they investigate? After all your protesting over being exposed, are you trying to bring their attention down on yourself? You have to be more cautious. Is all the praying really necessary?"

I risked another glance, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze, refusing to acknowledge the growing desire to kiss her, to bear her down to the grass and...

She looked away first. "Sorry," she murmured. "I know it's necessary. Just... try to be more discreet about it."

We sat in silence, watching the sun disappear beneath the waves, both ignoring the temptation that lay between us. "I do it, too, believe it or not," she said softly, as the last sliver of the sun dimmed below the horizon. "We all do. The execution itself, the meeting of Mephala's will... every death in her name is an act of prayer."

The idea of comparing murder to communion with the gods... a shiver of distaste ran through me. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to _understand_ , Sul. I don't take my job lightly, any more than you do. Anyway, it isn't _all_ bad, is it? Mephala wouldn't have chosen you if you didn't enjoy it, at least a little bit."

Suddenly weary of the whole situation, I let my head droop, staring at the grass between my drawn-up knees. "Is it always like that? The... the power, and the joy that comes with each death?"

I could hear the smile in her voice when she replied. "So you _have_ felt it... Mephala chose well. Some people are born with the desire for violence and danger, Sul. It is the way of the world, and has nothing at all to do with the Morag Tong, except that people like us make the best assassins."

I opened my mouth to deny her claim, and hesitated. I had been raised by the Temple, brought up to believe that life was sacred and must be preserved at all costs, even as I was trained in the arts of combat for the defense of the Temple and its members. Yet the instant I had the opportunity, intentionally or not, I had killed a skooma addict in the Underworks and sent myself down this path toward the Morag Tong.

I thought of others in the Temple, men of power like Elam Andas, or in the Orders of War and Inquisition, where my brethren and I had opportunity to commit sanctioned violence without much consequence. No one would admit to taking the post because they enjoyed killing... but it was possible. Was it true, that those with such drives would find themselves drawn to a position that would allow them that freedom?

The air was growing cooler as the dusk deepened. In contrast, Amurah's fingers were like fire where she laid them on my arm, sending a jolt of desire through me. All theological musings fled my mind, leaving only her, filling my senses. I could hear her breathing, taste the memory of her on my tongue, and I wasn't strong enough to pull away. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. "Please don't," I said through clenched teeth.

After a moment's hesitation, she withdrew her hand, leaving me with a sense of loss so acute I nearly gasped. "I had to try," she said wryly. I heard her rifling through a pocket, then a rustle of paper. "Here."

I opened my eyes to see her hold forth a rolled Writ. Resigned, I took it from her with a sigh. "Where?"

"Hlaalu, in the Treasury. I'll go with you; you'll need help with the locks on the doors, I think."

"Fine," I said, rising to my feet. "But I don't have my-"

She shrugged the strap of a bag off her shoulder and held it up to me, grinning. I could see the leather helm I'd been using for my disguise, eyeing me lifelessly from inside the bag. "Thanks," I muttered, taking the armor and trying to ignore her unabashed gaze while I changed.

\----

The entrance to the Hlaalu Treasury was unguarded, aside from the Ordinators who patrolled the Waistworks. We let ourselves in, and Amurah went to the official standing nearby. "Excuse me, ser," she said. "My name is Ama Hlaalu, and I've come a long way to see Galasa Uvayn, regarding a matter with my account. Is she available?"

I clasped my hands behind my back and scanned the nondescript foyer, playing the bored bodyguard to Amurah's travel-weary Hlaalu lady. The official eyed the hourglass on his desk and seemed about to demur, then thought better of it after a nervous glance at me. He told Amurah where to find our target, and she strode away without a word of thanks, with me in tow. When we turned a corner, she paused, motioning me ahead.

I rounded the second corner she'd indicated, and found my target, outside the door to the Hlaalu Records. She was a scholarly-looking Dunmer, standing half-turned away from the door, perusing a book she held in her hands and completely unaware of my presence... Hardly the sort of battle-hardened prey I was used to being sent to kill. A sense of foreboding stole over me, and I eased back out of sight.

Amurah frowned at me, perplexed. I lifted the mask from my face, settling it against my forehead. "Why has this woman been targeted by the Guild, Amurah?" I asked softly.

"Are you mad?" She hissed, tugging at my leather helm. "Put that back on. It doesn't matter. Would you-"

"It matters to me," I interrupted, jerking my head away from her.

Amurah's eyes narrowed. "It is not our place to pass judgment," she reminded me. "The contract is legitimate, and honors Mephala as required. We only carry out the sentence. Will you put the bloody helm back on before someone walks by and recognizes you?"

It may have been the stress of the past fortnight, or the lack of rest, that made me take my next ill-advised action. Succumbing to frustration, I lashed out, shoving Amurah against the wall with one hand wrapped around her throat. "Answer me!" I snarled.

Her eyes blazed with pure rage, and only then did I realize what I was doing. It would have been safer to pin an ogrim to the wall; at least its reaction would have been _predictable_. Amurah glared at me, unblinking, and I could practically hear the murderous thoughts going through her mind. I swallowed, feeling strangely unconcerned by my impending death at her hands. _At least my moral dilemmas will be solved_...

"Galasa Uvayn angered a Redoran lord," she hissed furiously, to my surprise. "Not as easy on the conscience as killing a skooma dealer, but the contract has been taken, and the Guild cannot-"

A startled gasp drew my attention; Galasa had rounded the corner and seen us. In my moment of distraction, Amurah's palm smashed into my unprotected chin, knocking my teeth together. I stumbled back, and Galasa Uvayn turned and ran. Spitting out a curse, Amurah shoved past me and followed her.

My jaws ached fiercely; it was a lucky thing I hadn't bitten off my own tongue. Shaking my head groggily, I hurried after them. Around the corner of the hall, the assassin caught up to Galasa, seizing her arm and hauling her back towards me. Trapped between us, the Treasury worker drew a dagger from her belt, clutching it awkwardly, her eyes wide with fear. I stared at her, and knew I could not do this. I had been able to half-way reconcile the guilt from my other assassinations, because they had been criminals... Murderers and thieves, slavers and rapists, the city was safer without them. But a recordkeeper, whose only crime was offending a nobleman? Whatever reasons Lord Vivec had to force me into this position, I could not believe that he wished the death of this woman.

The door next to Amurah opened suddenly, and a young cleric peered out. "Oh!" She exclaimed, and slammed the door in fright. From the other side of it, muffled shouting began.

"Make it fast, Sul," Amurah said tersely. Galasa turned to face me, terror written across her face, and I shook my head. "I cannot do this," I said softly, meeting Amurah's gaze over the woman's head.

Amurah cursed again, moving before the oath had finished leaving her lips. One hand tangled in Galasa's hair, jerking her backward; the other hand drew a long blade from her thigh sheath and slid it into the recordkeeper's back. The woman was dead before Amurah finished easing her body to the ground.

I stood there open-mouthed, watching her lower the dead woman and straighten, wiping the blade clean across her trousers. Deeper in the Treasury, the shouting intensified, and I could hear the pounding of booted feet on the floor.

"Give me the Writ," Amurah snapped urgently. "And get out of here. You can't be questioned, Sul; they'll make you remove the mask," she reminded me. She snatched the Writ from my hand and shoved the bag with my Indoril armor into my arms. This time, when she reached up to jerk my helm back into place, I let her. "Go!" She pushed me away, and I went, still feeling a little dazed. On my way out I passed the Treasury attendant, coming to investigate the commotion. I could hear the voices of the Ordinators on duty behind me, questioning Amurah around the corner. Willing my panicked heart to slow, I ducked out the door and forced myself to walk leisurely across the Waistworks. My shoulders itched with the feeling that all eyes in the streets were on my back; I gritted my teeth and took a roundabout way to the Arena, making sure I was not followed.

There, in the dimness, I changed into my own armor and waited for her to arrive. A passing Orc, departing the Guild, gave me an unreadable look, but said nothing. The Morag Tong all knew there was only one Ordinator who had reason to loiter there.

It was a long time before Amurah entered, her face still set in cold fury. She slammed the door hard enough to rattle the crates stacked nearby, and crossed the room in two strides, stopping in front of me. "If you ever threaten me like that again," she hissed, "god-protected or not, I _will_ kill you, Sul."

I wasn't sure that would be the case, given all the times she'd mentioned her orders to keep me safe. But, right then, she was angry enough to believe it, and I didn't argue. "What happened?"

She let out a sharp breath, and some of the tension left her body. She folded her arms across her chest and regarded me wordlessly for a moment. "Nothing unusual. There were no disputes over the Writ, but it took time to sort out the confusion." Her expression softened. "She died quickly, Sul. I don't think she even realized-"

"And that's supposed to make it right?" I demanded.

"It already _is_ right!" Amurah threw up her hands in frustration. "That's what I was telling you. It's not for us to say who deserves to die at our hands; that's what the contracts are for! If it's been sanctioned by Mephala-"

"Bugger Mephala!" I exploded. The oath sounded harsh and strange in my voice. "It was fine, before... The criminals with bounties on their heads? It was vigilante justice, but justice all the same. I killed a little of myself with every one I executed, yet I could manage to believe it was Vivec's will, somehow. But this, killing innocent women who are marked for execution only because a man they offended has money to purchase their death? I _will not_ be a part of it."

Amurah had fallen silent during my tirade. Now, she eyed me expressionlessly, waiting. I could see a dark splotch on her throat, where my thumb had bruised her. I tossed the bag of borrowed leather armor at her feet. "Do whatever you deem necessary," I told her, walking away. "Report me to the Temple; I don't care. I am through with you, and I want nothing more to do with the Morag Tong, assassin."

"As you wish, _assassin_ ," she shot back, before I shut the door between us.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

The most rational course of action should have been to turn myself in to the Temple, before the Guild did it for me. The Order of Inquisition was not known for its mercy, but its members certainly would have preferred to hear my crimes from _me_ rather than an outsider. As I've mentioned, however, my sense of rationality seemed to have fled me long ago. I couldn't quite believe that the Morag Tong would make good on their threat; I had called their bluff, and I decided to wait it out.

In the meantime, life continued as before: occasional shifts on the Watch, much time spent in prayer or study, and several missions outside the city for Nethalen. I kept my ears open for any news or rumors regarding the Morag Tong, but heard nothing. I did not see Amurah at all; no disguised assassins attempted to slip me any Writs. I still had the occasional feeling that I was being watched, but it was always brief. Mephala's noose around me seemed to have loosened. It seemed too good to be true that I had finally thrown off the god's interest, but slowly I began to wonder if perhaps I had passed whatever test Vivec had set before me.

Of course, as I discovered after a month or so, my initial thoughts were correct: it _was_ too good to be true.

One morning I was summoned to Nethalen's office, near the Office of the Watch. Elam Andas gave me his customary unreadable stare as I passed, ignoring my murmured greeting. I let myself into the Order of War's office, shut the door behind me, and stopped dead.

Amurah stood there, off to the side of Nethalen's desk, wearing Indoril armor with the helm tucked under her arm. Her brown hair had grown longer since I'd last seen her, and it was pulled back in a short club at the nape of her neck, giving her a severe appearance. She looked different, with her jaw set in jutting determination. I might have taken the person before me for simply an uncanny resemblance, except for those eyes that still met mine with the same jolt they always did.

A muscle under her scarred cheek jumped a little when she saw me, and her eyes narrowed fractionally, warning me. I tore my gaze away and came to stand before Nethalen's desk.

"Ah, there you are, Sul," he said. "This is Brother Hanirai Marpaal, newly arrived from Molag Mar. He's been transferred to our unit here to aid in a few upcoming missions. Would you mind showing him around the Hall of Justice... and see the quartermaster about assigning him a room."

I tried very hard not to look as if I'd rather pick a fight with an Atronach instead. "I would be honored, sir," I said, and bowed to Amurah. "Sul Daerys, at your service. If you'll follow me...?"

Amurah smiled, a slight, sardonic twisting that would have looked out of place on her, but fit _Hanirai_ 's lips perfectly. "Lead on, Brother Sul," she said, her voice low and rough.

I did, taking my leave of Nethalen and guiding Hanirai Marpaal through the corridors of the Hall of Justice. After turning a few corners, we reached the storage closet I was looking for. With no one else in sight, I opened it and hauled Amurah inside, slamming the door behind us. The impact of the door set the single blue lantern swinging, making shadows twist wildly in the tiny room. "What in the names of the Three are you _doing_?" I hissed.

She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "It's a variation of a chameleon spell, from an amulet of the Guild's. You can see past it, because you know me, but the others see only a man who-"

"You know what I mean," I snapped.

She shrugged unapologetically. "The Guild received a Writ on a member of the Temple."

"And they sent _you_?"

She fixed me with a challenging stare. "We knew _you_ weren't going to do it!"

Standing this close to her, I could feel the cursed desire between us, growing stronger. I clenched my fists against the urge to push her against the wall and strip her of the armor she had no right to wear. "Who is it?"

Amurah regarded me silently for a long moment. "I don't think I trust you enough to tell you that, Sul."

A low growl escaped my throat. I stepped closer, my fists still clenched at my sides. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't turn you over to Nethalen."

Unintimidated, she only raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean besides the fact that I'd slip a knife into you without a second thought, before you even _tried_ to leave this room? Or besides the fact that exposing me will raise uncomfortable questions about how you saw past my disguise? Because I know you're smart enough to have thought of those two reasons already."

"I don't believe you would kill me," I said. "After all the times you've said you couldn't truly harm _Mephala's chosen_? You wouldn't dare. And I'm willing to bet that the Temple will believe whatever story I tell them, once they contact Molag Mar and find no records of a Brother Hanirai Marpaal. So what _other_ reason can you give me?"

Her eyes flashed, and she pushed away from the wall, closing the distance between us to a mere hand's-breadth. "Listen to me, Sul," she hissed fiercely. "After your little outburst last month, I had to try very, very hard to persuade the Grandmaster not to kill you outright. The Guild is very unhappy with you, and if you ruin this assignment for us--for _me_... If you know what's good for you, Sul, you'll keep your mouth shut and be able to claim ignorance when it's over. Understand?"

Scowling at her, I said nothing. As if she suddenly became aware of how close we were standing, she licked her lips, and I saw her gaze flicker down to my mouth, contemplating a kiss. I shook my head sharply, and she stepped back. Abruptly, she was Hanirai again, wearing a look of grim determination. "Thank you for your assistance, Brother Sul," she said, in the same affected deep voice as before. "I believe I can find the quartermaster myself." She shoved past me roughly, leaving me alone in the tiny room.

\----

There are female Ordinators, of course; but they are restricted to service in the Orders of Inquisition and of Doctrine. Whoever Amurah's intended target was, it had to be someone in the Order of War, for her to attempt this infiltration. I had no way of knowing who it was, though... She had made it clear she wasn't going to tell me, and I avoided her as much as possible. I had already earned a reputation for being rather aloof, so no one remarked on how distant I kept myself from our new "Brother". Hanirai Marpaal behaved much the same way; more than once, I heard his name mentioned in conjunction with "taciturn" and "reserved". Amurah knew what she was doing, I had to admit.... In her alter ego, she cultivated a personality that was private and restrained, so that when she did something unusual, such as avoiding the bathing room during the usual hours, it was attributed only to Hanirai's odd nature and not truly remarked upon. If not for what still lay between us, I could have almost forgotten who this new Ordinator really was. But there was always something... the natural grace she couldn't quite hide under her artificially rough movements, or the way she would catch my eye when no one else was looking, that ruined the illusion for me. During the days, I forced myself to think of her as Hanirai Marpaal, even in private, to avoid a slip in conversation... At night, I was hard-pressed to ignore the desire that was driven, by her constant proximity, to near-unbearable heights.

I resumed my old habit of visiting the Temple Library, often late at night, when thoughts of Amurah refused to let me rest. I studied anything and everything, whatever I could find to distract myself.... Sometimes, if I was alone in the Library, I studied the Daedra again, returning to my months-ago research on Mephala, though it helped little.

One evening, unable to sleep, I left the Hall of Justice and wandered the city streets, trying to clear my mind of everything but the beauty of the moonlit night and failing at it, miserably. I found myself making my way to the Arena canton, and on a whim, I walked down to the lower level, finding the storage area that led to the Morag Tong guildhall.

The Guild's headquarters seemed ominously quiet when I entered; its occupants were undoubtedly abroad in the night, taking advantage of the darkness to fulfill their Writs. I could have stayed there, I supposed, shared in whatever amenities they offered; like it or not, I _was_ a member of the Guild. That was not why I had come, however. I strode into the small antechamber that housed the shrine to Mephala.

The priest was there, tending to the candles that lit the shrine. The flames reflected off the jewels on his scarlet robes, making them glisten like fresh blood. The priest looked up and smiled slightly. "Be welcome, son. You wish to speak to the Webspinner?"

I bit back a sharp retort, and said simply, "Yes."

He inclined his head, that secretive smile never shifting, and gestured wordlessly to the prayer benches before the altar. I made myself approach one without hesitating, bracing inwardly for the flare of Daedric voice that would invade my mind when I knelt.

To my surprise, there was nothing. I shifted on the bench, falling into my habitual position of prayer, waiting, but Mephala remained silent. Out of habit, I found myself easing into the meditative prayer-trance of the Tribunal, my awareness fading as I opened my mind to the gods. Distantly, I could hear the priest still moving about the shrine, lighting candles, then preparing an offering of incense that filled the room with a smoky-sweet, heady scent.

I waited a long time, as my calves prickled with lost sensation and a familiar ache settled into my knees. _Where are you, Spider?_ I thought foggily. _You drag me, fighting all the way, onto this path toward you, and now that I seek you out, you are silent?_

When it became clear that no thunderous conflagration of voices was forthcoming, I slowly surfaced from my meditation. I was surprised to see how far down the candles had burned since I first arrived. The priest leaned against the altar, hands folded in the wide sleeves of his robe, watching me.

"The Shadow does not speak to you," he observed.

I eyed him warily. "Another twist in the game she plays with me? Or have I not been deemed _worthy_ of her attention, now that I'm finally doing what she wants?"

The corners of the priest's eyes crinkled, a near-smile. "The Spider-God has his plans, like all deities. And, like all gods, he cloaks most of his plans in shadows. Not everyone is privileged to know them."

"Do _you_ know Mephala's plans for me?" I asked directly. He raised an eyebrow, giving me one of those enigmatic smiles that seem to be shared by all priests. "I know," he said, slowly and precisely, as if afraid to give away too much, "Mephala's plans for myself that pertain you. I am to ensure you receive this." He unfolded his hands, drawing from his sleeve a ring, which he held out to me.

Cautious of my legs, which were now beginning to tingle uncomfortably, I rose stiffly to my feet and took the ring. It was silver, set with three rectangular olive-green stones and a protruding band of intricate metal braid. Bright against the dark leather palm of my gauntlet, it shimmered with the faint sheen of enchantment.

I looked up at the priest, waiting.

"The Ring of Khajiit," he explained. "A useful tool for an assassin, especially one without the resources to train openly in the necessary skills of speed and stealth."

I opened my mouth to point out that that was hardly an explanation, but he cut me off. "It is not given lightly, and leaves the safekeeping of the Guild only at the express wishes of Mephala himself. I recommend that you take it with the appropriate respect, and not insult the Spider by refusing it."

"I... wasn't going to," I muttered, closing my fist around the ring. "Thank you."

"I am also to give you a message," he added. "Use caution, for you are being watched."

I thought of Amurah's eyes staring at me from Hanirai Marpaal's face, and gave a wry snort. "I know," I said.

There was that enigmatic smile again. The priest only nodded graciously as I took my leave of the shrine, the ring still clenched in my hand. Only after I resurfaced onto the streets of the Arena did I wonder why Mephala would warn me about being watched by her own followers.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

I made sure to hide the enchanted ring the moment I returned to my quarters that night. The following day, I became too busy to worry about it. A member of the Watch had contracted Black-Heart Blight from a street beggar, and the disease spread like wildfire through the Order, faster than the healers could combat it. Members of the Order of War, myself included, were called upon to fill the gaps in the Watch shifts until the sick could return to duty. Working double shifts left me no time to worry about my secret concerns, or about Amurah, and I promptly forgot about the Ring of Khajiit.

Shortly after the issues with the Watch were resolved, my own Order received new orders: Curate Aroa Nethalen himself was to lead his contingent of the Order of War to Ald Daedroth. The forbidden shrine in the far north was reportedly overrun by followers of Sheogorath, and we had been called upon by the Tribunal authorities to cleanse the den of blasphemy.

Amurah stood nearby in the formation of Ordinators as we received our orders. I risked a glance in her direction, wondering how she'd perform on a real mission, without the formal training we received. She had handled herself well enough so far; even now, she stood in formation at a perfect position of attention, giving no reason for anyone to pick her out from the rest of us... But outside of the city, it would be different, fighting battles on the other side of the island with lives at stake. Ordinators, no matter their Order, are trained to fight as a unit when necessary. Brothers in arms, and more: raised together in the Temple from infancy, we all were each others' closest thing to a family.

But Amurah was different. An assassin, trained to work silently and alone, relying on stealth and disguise and knives in the dark... I glanced at her again. As if sensing my eyes on her, she turned her head fractionally, her unreadable gaze passing over me without lingering. With a sudden shock of clarity, I wondered if _I_ was her intended target. It was an uncomfortable thought for many reasons, not least of which was that I'd probably have to kill her to protect my own life. I fought back a grimace at the thought, and turned my attention back to Nethalen, who still paced before us, outlining our plans.

\----

I found the Ring of Khajiit by accident later that day, while packing my few provisions for the coming mission. Rummaging in my trunk for a leftover healing potion I had stashed away, with a hand braced against the lid, my thumb brushed against the hidden ring. I pulled it from its hiding place, wedged into the join of wood inside the lid, and stared at it, wondering what I should do with it. I wasn't entirely sure it would be safe in my room when I was gone; my paranoia whispered that Elam Andas could order my quarters searched while I was away.

On the other hand, there would be little privacy on this journey, with so many Ordinators traveling in close quarters. It would be difficult to hide even such a little thing as a ring....

 _Fool_ , I told myself. _It's only a ring, not your entire_ identity. _If Amurah can hide herself in plain sight within a company of male Ordinators, surely you can manage to keep one little ring hidden..._

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. With a guilty start, my heart suddenly pounding, I clenched my fist reflexively around the ring and slipped the trinket into a trouser pocket on my way to the door.

As if my thoughts had conjured her, Amurah stood outside my room. She clutched an empty bag in her hands, and gave me a gruff nod when I opened the door. "Brother Sul," she said. "My travel pack seems to be missing a few buckles. I thought you might have some spares, and a sewing kit I could borrow, to replace them."

"Come in," I said, resisting the urge to look guiltily around for anyone who might be watching. I shut the door firmly behind her, and my fingers itched to lock it. "I don't suppose you _really_ need-"

"I do, actually," she said, amused. "The sewing kit, at least. I took the buckles off myself."

She sat on the edge of my bed while I turned back to my trunk to look for the kit. "And what is so important that you came up with this clever plan to meet with me?" I asked, quietly. I wasn't sure how well sound might carry outside my room.

"Oh, nothing really," she said nonchalantly. "But it seemed that _you_ wanted to speak with me."

My hand closed around the folded cloth of the sewing kit, and I pulled it out to hand to her. Our fingertips brushed, the barest hint of a touch when she took it, and it was enough to send the room reeling around me. I snatched my hand away, struggling for control while unwelcome thoughts crowded into my head. I pictured myself kissing her, running my hands over her skin, pressing her back onto my bed and-

"No," I managed, forcing away the unclean thoughts. She blinked unfocused eyes at me, looking as flustered as I felt. "I mean-" I took a deep, calming breath and stood up, putting a little distance between us. "I did have something to tell you. I still don't know who you're planning to assassinate, but my loyalty requires I stop it, if I can."

"I'm aware of-"

I held up a hand, interrupting. "I tolerate your presence among my brethren because, as Eno Hlaalu said, I serve two masters, whether I like it or not. I trust that you won't do anything... that would require me to compromise both of my allegiances."

Her eyes narrowed as she caught the hidden meaning in my words: _Do what you must, but don't make me have to fight_ you _to keep up appearances in the Temple._

"And," I added, "I'm uneasy about you going on this mission. Nethalen will be expecting you to perform as any other brother trained to the Order of War, and if you can't, or if someone is killed because-"

"Because of what, Sul? My ignorance? My _ineptness_? I've fought at your side before, and I know I haven't given you any cause to complain about my skills."

"No," I admitted. "But you'll be fighting alongside my brothers, not just me."

Her lips curved in a tiny smile, and she stood up, tucking my sewing kit into her pack. "Don't worry, _brother_ ," she said, and I couldn't tell if she were angry or not. "The Guild does not send its members on such intricate assignments without thorough training. And if my fighting methods seem... unorthodox... at times, well, _Hanirai_ had some eccentric teachers in Molag Mar. Thanks for the kit." She turned to leave.

I scowled, unhappy with her answer, but knowing it was the best I was likely to get. "Amurah," I said softly, and it came out sounding strange, my voice deeper than it should have been.

She stopped, as if her name was a cord about her neck that I had just pulled tight, and turned around. _Well?_ her expression asked silently.

“Am I the one?” I asked bluntly. “Are you only here to watch me, and execute me the moment I slip and reveal everything?”

Amurah pursed her lips in thought. “Kiss me, and maybe I’ll tell you,” she whispered, eyes sparkling with both mischief and desire.

 _Gods_... I wanted to, badly. It would be so easy, to pull her into my arms and kiss her, roughly, to possess her again.... To quiet all those images that roiled in my head whenever she touched me...

 _To open the floodgates_ , a tiny, rational voice managed to whisper through the desire. _One kiss, and your control is shattered, for nothing. There will be no chance of making it through this mission without betraying yourself, and her, if you cannot maintain your self-control._

With enormous effort, I stepped back, letting out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “No, I-” It came out in a hoarse whisper. “No.”

Something of my internal struggle must have shown on my face, for her teasing smile had disappeared. “Sorry,” she murmured. “That was unfair.”

No longer trusting my own voice, I just nodded. The charged emotions between us had given way to an awkward silence. Amurah clutched the pack tighter, looking as if she were about to speak, then left without a word.

I sagged with relief when she closed the door behind her. A few curses floated through my mind while I tried to imagine how I‘d survive this mission; I ignored them and gave voice to a quick prayer, instead. “Vivec help me,” I begged in a murmur. “If this is your will, to test me... I do not know if I have the strength to succeed.”

\----

Ald Daedroth's cluttered outline rose above the uneven hills just before us when we arrived on the beach. Some twenty or thirty Ordinators, and one disguised assassin, spilled out of the fishing boats we'd chartered in Dagon Fel. We fell into formation to await our assignments; I found a space near Amurah, hoping I'd be able to keep an eye on her in the shrine.

Thankfully, we both were assigned to the same group of five men, tasked with clearing the inner shrine, by way of the left wing. I realized, belatedly, that I was the senior member of my party. Aroa Nethalen fixed me with a measuring stare, his eyes scarlet behind the impassive mask of his helm. "You're in charge, Brother Sul," he told me. "Be careful in there. And watch out for Hanirai; this is his first trip outside the City since he joined us. The division at Molag Mar uses some different tactics than we do; make sure he knows what he's doing."

"...Aye, sir," I managed to say. My mouth was suddenly as dry as the Ashlands. Nethalen moved on to the next group, and I turned to inspect the four Ordinators under my command. Three young men who probably still had the sound of their own vows ringing in their ears... and Amurah. Her disguising spells didn't affect me, but even I had a hard time distinguishing her when she wore the full armor and helm of an Ordinator. _Let me bring all of them out alive,_ I prayed quickly, to whichever god was listening. The Ring of Khajiit, hanging on a slender chain beneath my cuirass, suddenly felt heavier.

The four of them looked back at me, no doubt waiting for me to speak some inspiring words. I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Ah... this will be dangerous," I said, paraphrasing what Nethalen had just announced moments ago. "This shrine was intended to honor Sheogorath, and his followers have disobeyed the Temple order to keep it sealed. There will be cultists, likely driven by their god to resist us; and probably Daedra as well. Since none of you have any experience in a shrine-" I glanced pointedly at Amurah, "- stay together, following me." I pointed to one of the younger ones, a boy named Uryth. "You're rear guard. If you see _anything_ that requires our attention behind us, don't hesitate to say so." He murmured acknowledgement, and I continued, "Hanirai, you'll be at my right. You two, behind us. Remember, we're trying to keep quiet as long as possible, but don't worry too much about it. The element of surprise will be lost soon enough."

The four of them nodded, and I glanced over my shoulder at the entrance to the shrine. Ordinators were filing through the crooked door, while others fanned out around the exterior ruins. "Let's go," I said, striding toward the shrine.

Ald Daedroth’s interior was similar to other shrines I’d visited since joining the Order of War: cavernous and dark, the air cool but stale. This one was sinking slowly into the sea, it seemed; water rose around our ankles, and filled the dim corners with a _drip-drip_ sound.

With Amurah at my side, I led the other three down a long corridor, to the outer shrine. Our splashing footsteps echoed weirdly in the vast space. Keeping as silent as possible, we crossed the room, passing the bodies of several dead cult worshippers on our way to the left wing.

The groups that had gone ahead of us had done a thorough job; we met no resistance as we moved through the corridors. We passed a knot of Ordinators locked in combat with cultists at the feet of a tall statue, but my brothers had the situation in hand, and I had my own orders. I led my little party past them, through the entrance to the inner shrine.

We emerged before a great statue of Sheogorath, just in time to join the battle that boiled on its other side. The five of us dove into the fight, and I found myself grinning fiercely under my mask, as men and Daedra shouted around me and my blood sang with the excitement of the battle.

We had gained an advantage and were pressing it, forcing the cultists to retreat beneath the unhelpful effigy of their god, when Uryth let out a shout of warning. One of the blasphemers broke away from the fight, running toward an antechamber behind the statue, presumably to fetch help. Before anyone else could react to stop him, Amurah tore herself free of the scamp that clawed at her, and raced to catch the man.

"Am-!" With an effort, I choked back the rest of her name, turning to my brothers instead. "Stay here!" I shouted, and plunged headlong into the darkness after her, kicking up water as I ran.

I followed her through a room lined with columns, and reached the door to the next chamber only seconds after it slammed behind her. As I stepped through it, though, she was nowhere in sight, and I had to stop and listen before I knew where to turn. A shout drew me to the right, and I ran as quickly as my feet would carry me, mace at the ready.

I found Amurah at the far side of yet another chamber, fighting wildly against the three armored figures who had her cornered. I had seen her fight off more than that, in the shrine of Ald Sotha, and in the stronghold of Hlormaren when we had fought side by side. But then, she had been in her natural capacity as an assassin, with the light, flexible armor and myriad blades to which she was accustomed. Here, she could handle herself well enough against one foe, perhaps two in better surroundings, but not three of them... and not while backed into a corner, nor while using armor and weapons unfamiliar to her. As I approached in a dead run, I saw her thrust her mace up and forward at one of her attackers. It connected solidly, knocking him backward, but another snatched the mace from her unbalanced grip. The third man hooked a booted ankle behind hers and kicked. Less agile than normal, Amurah was too slow to avoid it, and dropped out of sight as her feet were swept from under her.

Everything seemed to slow, as if we all moved through squib jelly. I saw the first man, roaring in fury, stumble back toward her, his spear raised for a killing strike. A skilled spearman, I knew, would find the joints of a foe's armor, could throw with deadly accuracy for the smallest weak point. The others kicked at Amurah's prone form. I could see her struggle to avoid the blows, trying to plant her feet for purchase against the ground, hoping to dodge the coming spear thrust, and I knew it wasn't possible.

Raising my arm, I hurled my ebony mace with all my strength. I swear, on Vivec's name, that there was a god's hand in its flight... I am no marksman, and I could not make such an unerring throw again if I tried. The weapon flew across the room, spinning end over end, glinting in the dim light, and struck the helm of the spearman with a resounding _clang_.

The man dropped like a stone, bonemold armor clattering against the floor, and time seemed to resume its normal speed. The other two turned to face me. In the brief respite, Amurah produced a short sword seemingly out of nowhere and thrust it into the knee joint of one cultist's armor. As he staggered, the other one charged at me, enormous battle-axe raised overhead.

My only weapon, now, was the small knife strapped to my side. I drew it, knowing it was better than nothing, but I had no intention of getting close enough to that axe to use it. The half-moon blade whistled over my head as I ducked, trying to slip past him and reach my mace. He let the momentum of the swing spin him around once more, and I stumbled and fell while avoiding the blade again. He raised the weapon overhead with a roar and sent it hurtling down at me. I rolled away, just barely clearing it, and scrambled to my feet.

 _For all the speed with which he can swing that thing, he's slow to build momentum,_ I realized, watching him lift the axe from the floor much more slowly than he'd swung it downward. Before he could ready it for another strike, I tackled him. We hit the ground hard, and I heard the breath escape his lungs with a grunt. I still had my knife in hand, and slashed toward his throat; he caught my wrist in his hand and we struggled over it for a moment. With my other hand, I jabbed two fingers into the eye sockets of his helm and lifted it off the floor, then slammed it back down as hard as I could. I felt his head rattle inside the helm, and his grip on my wrist weakened. He let out a howl of pain and rage, and I lifted his head to do it again.

Something kicked at me -- I _think_ it was a kick-- slamming into my ribs and sending me flying off the cultist. I hit the ground and rolled, unable to stop until I fetched up against the wall with a jolt. Dazed and dizzy, I lay there blinking while the shrine spun around me.

A gleaming, female form was stalking across the room toward me, stepping indifferently over the man who still lay on the ground, cradling his head. _A golden saint_ , I realized groggily... Another Daedra I had studied but never seen in person. Shining in both armor and golden skin, she-- it-- carried a glass shield and sword, and approached me unhurriedly. There was no life behind its eyes, framed by metallic wings that extended gracefully from the half-helm it wore.

I glanced toward Amurah; still entangled in battle with the other cultist, she would be unable to help. Shaking my head dizzily, I rose to hands and knees, fighting back a wave of nausea. I had lost my knife when the Sheogorath-spawn kicked me; weaponless, I determined I would at least meet my fate standing.

With a soft _clink_ , the Ring of Khajiit fell from my cuirass to dangle on its chain. I had forgotten about it, again. I tore my gauntlet off and shoved my finger through the ring with a muttered word, snapping the fine chain from around my neck. The illusion of seeing my own body fade from view, on top of my already-swimming vision, was a sickening sensation. The golden saint didn't miss a beat, but darted forward, aiming a killing strike where it had last seen me. I scrambled out of the way, lurching to my feet as the Daedra's glass sword struck empty stone behind me.

Once I was upright, the dizziness faded somewhat, and I hurried across the room toward my weapon. The ring seemed to pulse around my finger, sending surges of energy through my body; I covered the distance to my mace in half the time I would have expected. When I turned my attention back to the golden saint, it was crouched in a defensive posture, sword and shield at the ready, head cocked to the side as if listening. Testing my newfound speed, I attacked, my mace seeming lighter and quicker in my grip.

After that, it was over quickly. Whatever strengths Sheogorath had given his "daughters", they didn't include defenses against an unseen foe. By the time the golden saint dropped to the ground, lifeless, the ring was nearly spent, and I pulled it off, tucking it into my pocket. With its removal, I felt heavier; slower and more tired. Wearily blinking my eyes back into focus, I turned to see Amurah crouching over the body of the axe-wielding cultist. I guessed that he'd been too stunned by that blow to the head to get up; now, he only struggled feebly before she snapped his neck with a quick, savage twist.

She rose to her feet, picking up the sword she'd put aside. It was the Daedric one she'd taken from Ald Sotha, all blood-red and blackened steel.... Not the sort of weapon that an Ordinator would carry. "Put that away," I snapped.

She complied with a shrug, making the blade disappear so quickly that I still had no idea where she'd hidden it. "That was quite a throw," she said, with a nod toward the mace that hung at my side. "Thank you."

Now it was my turn to shrug. "Are you hurt?"

"Not badly. You?"

I shook my head, relieved for more than one reason. I wasn't sure how well her disguise would hold up, if one of our healers had to examine her. I turned away, looking for my lost knife. Amurah found it first, handing the hilt toward me. I took it, and nearly dropped it when I realized I could hear voices approaching.

"Stand at attention," I muttered urgently, then raised my voice. "Have you gone mad, Marpaal? What do they teach you in Molag Mar? To go charging off into danger alone, against orders? Because I know you didn't learn that in _my_ unit!"

Amurah stood ramrod straight, the very picture of a young Ordinator accepting a well-deserved chastisement, but beneath her mask I could see the corners of her eyes crinkle with amusement. There was no smile in her voice, however, when she murmured a subdued reply.

I kept going for a moment, not needing to feign my anger; she very nearly had gotten both of us killed, after all. When the rest of the Ordinators spilled into the room, I stopped, turning to salute Aroa Nethalen as he approached. "What happened here, Sul?" he asked, removing his helm and looking at the bodies that littered the floor.

I shot a quick, angry glance at Amurah, and related what had happened, leaving out the ring and the Daedric sword, of course. His helm tucked under his arm, Nethalen pursed his lips as he listened, then frowned at Amurah. "Your bravery is to be commended, Brother Hanirai, but when it needlessly endangers yourself and others, it becomes stupidity, instead. And when it leads you to disobey orders, it becomes another problem. Expect consequences when we return to Vivec, young Brother."

"Yes, sir," Amurah murmured, managing to look contrite.

Nethalen regarded me silently for a long moment. "Well done, Sul," he said at last. "With a golden saint in their number, I would guess the odds to be worse than simply two to one, and your quick thinking probably saved Hanirai's life."

"Thank you, sir," I said, feeling a bit sick at the undeserved praise.

Nethalen turned away, dismissing us, and began issuing new orders. There was little left to do, now, save to carry out the bodies we’d left. One of our brothers had died, knocked unconscious in battle and drowned in the ankle-deep water that flooded the front portions of the shrine. Three others had taken wounds of varying severity, and it was determined that we would spend the night in the shrine until they had rested. It took the rest of the afternoon to dispose of the bodies we’d left strewn throughout the shrine, and hold a simple ceremony for the Ordinator who had died. A proper memorial would be held for him when we returned to the City.

Despite my exhaustion, sleep was reluctant to visit me that night. Another entire shift after I had been relieved from watch and returned to my bedroll, I sat against the wall in the corner, legs stretched out before me, deep in thought. It was Mephala who weighed upon my thoughts, mostly... The god's hermaphroditic nature had become a puzzlement over which I often mulled in my spare moments, trying to understand how a deity could be both male and female. _Perhaps_ , I thought, _it’s similar to Lord Vivec himself, who is said to bear aspects of both Chimer and Dunmer characteristics on each side of his person. Is it possible that the Spider god bears male parts on his left side and female on her right?_

Over such foolish ground did my thoughts wander as the night wore on, until I began to doze... Then a movement across the shrine caught my attention. A good ten or fifteen bedrolls were occupied on the floor between us, but I knew as soon as the figure rose that it was _her_. She was still disguised as a man, of course, even for sleep, and moved with an affected heaviness to her limbs, concealing the grace with which her body normally flowed. It furthered the illusion that her flattened chest and men's clothing created... but by then, after so much time spent watching her surreptitiously, I knew her movements, whether male or female in appearance.

 _Like Mephala_ , I thought drowsily, watching this strange confliction of masculinity and femininity pick its way through the scattered bedrolls as silently as the Spider herself. Perhaps that was the answer to my musings-- perhaps Mephala could shift between one or another at will, presenting only the gender he or she wished to--

My somnolent thoughts evaporated suddenly, as I realized that she was not leaving the shrine on some private business, but approaching me. Wordlessly, I watched her come and kneel in front of me. Her shirt collar was unbuttoned, and I could just see the edge of the bindings that concealed her breasts. Her hair, let loose to fall past her chin, still curled as much as it was able, tousled by sleep.

“You saved my life today,” she breathed, so softly that I read the words on her lips more than I heard them. “That’s twice now, that I must repay.”

“You’ve saved my life before,” I pointed out, just as quietly.

She smiled, a wickedly amused look. “Only you would try to convince someone that they _aren’t_ indebted to you, Sul,” she whispered, and leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of my legs.

It was madness, I know. Madness, to stare at her and feel the wave of desire that crashed over me, back from wherever I had unsuccessfully banished it. Madness, not to refuse, as she crept closer, until her knees sank into the blankets on either side of my hips, and I could feel the heat of her body against mine. Madness, to slip my hands under her shirt, caressing the hard planes of her stomach, and think that no one might wake to see us. _So be it,_ I thought; that night, the god's touch that was on me was mad Sheogorath’s, and I did not care.

Her lips met mine, softly, a breath of a kiss. We dared not kiss harder, nor move faster, for fear of disturbing the neighboring sleepers. The forced gentleness only made my need stronger, and I gritted my teeth, fighting for control while we freed each other of clothing, carefully, so slowly... Her mouth dropped open when I slid inside her, and I pressed my hand over her lips, muffling her gasp. I felt her smile under my palm, and she rocked slowly against me, then tangled one fist in my hair. She bit into my shoulder to silence herself, and I forgot, again, my vows to the priesthood. I forgot that she was a blasphemous Daedra worshipper who murdered for a living, and I forgot that we were in a Daedric shrine with dozens of Ordinators asleep around us. There was only her, and the need for silence that, mercifully, I did _not_ forget.

It was over too quickly; we were too desperate, too fearful of discovery. She shuddered in my arms, tightening around me, and her teeth sank deeper into my skin. I let out a gasp as the pleasure spilled over me, her touch once again shattering my ties to the Temple.

A few bedrolls away, someone shifted in his sleep, and we both tensed. When he subsided, Amurah relaxed against me, leaning on my chest, hand over my pounding heart. I could have stayed that way forever, but we both knew that the next shift for the watch would change over soon. Cautiously, we parted and returned our clothing to some semblance of order.

Before she left, she crouched by my side to breathe into my ear, “Sweet dreams, Sul.” I caught her arm before she could pull away.

“You still will not tell me who is your target, will you?” I asked in a whisper.

Amurah's grin shone in the darkness. For answer, she placed a lingering kiss on my lips, and I remembered the price of her answer when I’d last asked the question. “Not you,” she breathed, and left as silently as she’d arrived, creeping back to her bedroll on the other side of the shrine.

Guilt began to beat at me when she was gone, but so did much-needed sleep. Feeling both relieved that I wasn’t in danger of finding her knife in my ribs, and worried that some other member of my order _was_ , I slipped into my blankets and resolved to feel guilty after I’d rested.

In the morning, Aroa Nethalen was found dead in a bedroll soaked with his own blood, and Hanirai Marpaal was gone.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

The Morag Tong guildhall in Ald-ruhn was a grand affair, quite a contrast to the simple, secretive hideout in Vivec. Located in the district known as Under Skar, with noble Redoran manors on either side of it, the hall had its name written proudly on the door for all to see.

Inside, the ceiling rose high overhead, arching over a meeting room of sorts, lit by the red lights that the Guild seemed to favor. They cast a rather ominous glow on Uryth's armor, and lit scarlet highlights in the blond hair of the Nord who scowled at the two of us.

"We don't know nothin' about any Writ on a Curate of the Temple," he said, annoyed. "And we'd be under no obligation to tell you even if we had. So why don't you both take your fancy Indoril arses and-"

"Peace, Hoki," another man interrupted, command in his calm voice. The Nord subsided, and I turned my gaze to the Dunmer, who eyed me shrewdly. "Forgive us," he said, with a pointed glance at Hoki. "Guests of the Guild are generally treated with more respect. For all his discourtesy, however, Hoki is right. There is little more we can tell you."

This would be Goren Andarys, I guessed; the head of the Ald-ruhn chapter of the Guild. I glanced at Uryth, standing rock-still beside me. "Wait outside," I told him, hoping I sounded sufficiently ominous.

He glanced swiftly at me, and hesitated. "We can't--"

"That's an _order_ , Brother," I said firmly, holding his gaze. After a moment, Uryth turned away. We waited in silence until he had left the hall. When I looked back at Goren Andarys, he was regarding me with the dangerous calm of a kagouti waiting to strike.

I reached up and removed my helm, tucking it under my arm. The assassins here wouldn't know me by sight, of course, but if I was going to convince them, I couldn't hide behind my Temple mask. "I am Sul Daerys, Ordinator of the Temple, and Associate of the Morag Tong." The titles-- both of them-- rolled off my tongue with ease, surprising me. "I am looking for Sister Amurah Llenith."

Hoki coughed; the other occupants of the room ceased their conversations, glancing our way. Goren stared at me for a long time.

"I had heard rumors of an Ordinator who chose to follow our path," he said at last. "None of us quite believed it."

My helm still tucked beneath my elbow, I folded my hands together and stared back, waiting.

"Why do you seek the Sister?" He asked. "As an officer of the law, or as a member of the Guild?"

"I am under orders from the Temple to search for the assassin of Aroa Nethalen, which is what brings me to Ald-ruhn," I admitted. "But I have... personal business with Amurah."

Hoki snorted, muttering something vulgar under his breath. I glared at him levelly, and he quieted.

Goren didn't relax. "She is not here," he said. "Though it may be possible to carry a message to her."

I nodded. "I would be grateful. Tell her... Tell her to be careful, and stay out of Vivec. I can only do so much to protect her without betraying myself; and if I don't know where she is, I can do even less."

The Guild leader quirked his lips, amused. "You believe she needs your protection?"

 _Probably not_ , I thought silently. Amurah was more than capable of taking care of herself. But a thought surfaced in my mind, unbidden: Amurah, her graceful frame broken and bloodied under the attentions of the Order of Inquisition. Legal Writ or no, the Temple was out for blood on the matter of Nethalen's murder, and I didn't want to think about what would happen to her if she were captured.

I didn't say that, though. "I walk a fine line between the Temple and the Guild," I told the assassin, truthfully enough. "Eno Hlaalu will have my head if anything happens to her. Just make sure she gets the message."

Goren nodded. "We shall do so."

I thanked him, and replaced my helm, leaving the Guildhall without another word. I could feel the eyes of the room's occupants, following me out; I kept my head high, and didn't look back.

Outside, Uryth was waiting with arms crossed. "That was against regulations," he accused me in a low voice, glancing aside at passing city guards. "When you're assigned a partner, you don't leave them outside, especially when you're questioning potentially hostile-- Where are you going?"

I ignored him, striding away and listening to his footsteps as he hurried to catch up. When he caught my shoulder to stop me, I rounded on him fiercely, and he took a startled step back. "A Curate of the Temple-- _our superior--_ was killed," I reminded him harshly. "While surrounded by an entire unit of his own men, no less. Justice must be served, and it will not wait on petty regulations and protocols. I will do _anything_ to avenge his death and restore the Temple's honor, Uryth. Anything-- whether that means sending you outside so you can claim ignorance when the Morag Tong lodges a complaint about my methods, or... something else. Do you understand?"

He blinked at me, nodding slowly. "I admire your dedication to bringing the killer to justice, Sul. And I bear no love for the Morag Tong, either... But perhaps you should let me do the questioning from now on."

"As you wish." I turned away with a shrug; I had already delivered my message. A pang of guilt twisted in my stomach, for manipulating the junior Ordinator so easily. He wasn't much younger than I; he'd taken his vows only a few weeks ago.

 _Amurah would be pleased, though_ , I thought reluctantly, as we left the manor district and reemerged into the dusty air of Ald-ruhn's streets. _I'm growing skilled at the business of leading a double life..._

Her work in the shrine, executing Aroa Nethalen in his sleep while we all slept in the same room, had thrown the entire Temple into disarray. We had kept it quiet on the return journey, when we'd found no trace of the killer that morning. I had known, from the moment I awoke to shouts of alarm, that Amurah would be long gone, but of course I said nothing. I kept my treacherous knowledge to myself and followed orders, searching every corner of the shrine, inside and out, and every patch of ground on the island. We found no trace of Nethalen's killer, and kept our silence among the townsfolk we passed as we bore his body home. Wrapped securely in a spare blanket, he was only another casualty of our dangerous mission.

When we returned to Vivec, however, and made our report, the news spread across the island like flames on dry tinder. The Temple made it known that the person responsible would not go unpunished, and offered a reward for any information leading to his capture. Half the Watch took on double shifts, while the rest joined the Order of War in combing Vvardenfell for any possible clues. Sent out in groups of five or six, we traveled on foot from town to town, asking after a man who may have called himself Hanirai Marpaal. When we found a Morag Tong hall, we asked about their Writs, for the Temple wisely suspected that only the Assassin's Guild would have the audacity, or the motivation, to commit such a crime. Word spread across the island, followed more slowly by our parties of Ordinators as we crept slowly northward, and we found nothing. Wherever Amurah had hidden herself, she had left no traces for us to find.

And of course, no one else knew that it was a woman we sought. I went through the motions with the rest of my party, keeping my mouth shut on her secret. When I had a chance, I stole away from the others to ask after Amurah as an assassin, not an Ordinator; I left her a message with the Guild in Vivec before I left, and in Balmora as well as Ald-ruhn. Days and weeks dragged on as we continued our painstaking search, and still found nothing.

Until we came to Maar Gan.

Tired and dusty after a long, fruitless trek through a foyada from Ald-ruhn, we reached the mining village as noon was approaching, though it was hard to tell, obscured by the dark grey clouds that massed overhead. The leader of our group, Curate Tarer Braryn, made for the Temple Shrine to secure lodging for the night, and the four of us followed in a weary line, wanting only to bathe the ashes from our skin. I glanced around the village of scattered, organic-looking huts built in the Redoran style, observing its layout and defense capabilities, a habit I'd learned since joining the Order of War. A young Dunmer woman bent over a vendor's display of kwama eggs, examining them. She glanced up to smile at the seller, and her gaze strayed past his head, looking straight at me, eyes widening in shock.

It was _her_. Recognition, relief, desire and worry all swarmed over me with that one glance, and I froze, so suddenly that Uryth walked into my back. "Sul? What is it?"

"Nothing," I said, forcing myself to keep walking, to catch up to the others. "I... thought I heard thunder, that's all."

"Just what we need, more bad weather," Uryth grumbled under his breath. I stole another look at Amurah as we passed the egg vendor's table. Dressed in a plain brown skirt and a red tunic, her deadly grace was unmistakable to me, and I wondered how no one else could see it. Her hair had been cut back to its customary unruly curls in the weeks since I'd seen her, and she carried a basket of saltrice and kwama eggs, looking for all the world like a simple village woman, albeit a surreptitiously dangerous one. She didn't meet my eyes again, but I felt her stare boring into my back as we climbed a staircase to the shrine.

As it happened, most of the shrine's rooms were already claimed for the night by pilgrims. Tarer and one other took the last available rooms for themselves, and arranged lodgings for the rest of us at the town's Andus Tradehouse.

After we'd had a chance to wash the worst of the accumulated ash from our faces, we met together in the dining area of the tradehouse and split up to begin the search of Maar Gan. Uryth and I headed outside and began at the first home we saw, working our way through the streets. I endured the interview of each citizen with only half my attention, asking the questions sometimes without realizing what I was saying. I had long ago memorized the queries we were supposed to ask, and my mind was mostly focused on Amurah, wondering when we would find her. After the first few homes, Uryth noticed my preoccupation, and handed me the tablet he carried, letting me take notes while he asked the questions, instead.

Amurah answered the door at the sixth house we visited, her face revealing nothing except the wary courtesy we received from nearly every other citizen. "Yes?"

"Your name, sera?" Uryth asked, in a bored voice.

She gave it as Assirari, and I wrote it down while she ushered us inside. Sitting with her back very straight and hands clasped demurely in her lap, she answered all our questions with the proper answers, knowing no more than a simple miner should. I managed to scribble some semblance of notes, which were probably entirely illegible. It was torture to be in the same room with her, after so long, and not even be able to acknowledge that I knew her. All the long weeks of seeing her disguised, a secret presence in the Hall of Justice, hadn't prepared me for this. Something had changed between us, that night in Ald Daedroth; all I wanted to do was lean across the short distance between us and kiss her, and somehow I knew that she felt the same. Every so often, when Uryth wasn't looking, I caught a faint smile tugging at her lips, and I had to bite my lip to keep from letting out a near-hysterical, despairing laugh.

At last, the interminable questions were finished, and Uryth stood to leave, thanking her for her time. She walked us to the door, and when his back was turned, she caught my hand and squeezed it hard, pressing a folded parchment into my palm. I clenched my fist and made no acknowledgement as we left the hut.

I don't know how I made it through the rest of the day, with her note tucked away, unread, inside the pouch that hung at my belt. Somehow, we finished visiting the houses of the village, and I managed to eat a few bites of food as we regrouped for dinner in the tradehouse. Tarer decided that we would depart in the morning, after a night's rest, and head northwest to Khuul. After the meal, alone in my room for the first time that day, I locked my door and fished out the parchment, unfolding it and smoothing it over my knee. Its message was short and simple.

_Behind Andus Tradehouse, after midnight._

_Easy enough_ , I thought, holding the edge of the note to the candle flame that flickered on the bedside table. Not bothering to undress, I set my helm aside and stretched out on the bed, dozing fitfully for a few hours.

I awoke to the rumble of thunder, muted and distant enough to be just on the edge of my hearing, and I thought I'd dreamed it at first. When another faint rumbling followed it, I startled fully awake and glanced at the candle, which had almost burned itself out. If it wasn't midnight already, it was close. Swinging my feet over the edge of the bed, I replaced my helm and left the room as quietly as I could.

A late-night hush had fallen over the common areas of the Andus Tradehouse, which were empty and dimly lit. I should have used the Ring of Khajiit to slip out unnoticed, but I thought there was no need. Upstairs, however, I found Uryth sitting near the exit, looking over the notes we'd taken that day. "Can't sleep?" He asked me sympathetically, even as I hesitated, unsure what to do.

"No," I admitted, truthfully enough. I wracked my brains for a plausible excuse for leaving the building. "I thought I'd go see the shrine. It would be a shame to leave tomorrow without having prayed there."

Uryth stood up, tucking the sheaf of papers under his arm. "I'll go with you," he said. "Vivec knows, I'm not learning anything new from these. And your dreadful handwriting doesn't help much, either."

Grimacing inwardly, my nerves on edge, I followed him outside. The streets of Maar Gan were empty, save for a torchlit guard or two that we passed on the way to the shrine. A cool breeze whistled among the houses, carrying the promise of rain. I saw no sign of Amurah; I hoped I was early, and she wasn't already waiting for me.

The shrine was just as it had been earlier that day, a massive rock displayed in the center of the high-ceilinged room, with prayer-benches arrayed before it. Legend states that Lord Vivec outwitted Mehrunes Dagon in Maar Gan, taunting him until he threw the giant stone at Vivec rather than the people of the town. I cast a wary glance at the Dremora who had been bound there for pilgrims to taunt; he seemed harmless enough, leaning against the wall with an expression of bored annoyance. Uryth knelt before the shrine, bowing his head in prayer.

Since I had no choice, I did the same. Despite my unease, I slipped easily into the familiar meditation. I thought about Vivec, and Mephala, imagining myself being pulled in two by both of their claims on me, at odds with each other. I'm not sure how long it was, before Uryth rose to his feet. He left without a word, not wanting to disturb me, and I waited a long time before I followed.

Again, I saw no one in the town except a guard in the street. I headed back toward the tradehouse as if returning to bed; with a quick glance behind me, seeing no one watching, I slipped past the door and went around the side of the building.

An arching tunnel cut through the rear of the tradehouse, a feature I'd noted on a few of the other buildings as well. I ducked inside to wait, hoping I wasn't too late, that Amurah hadn't already waited for me and left.

Only a few moments passed before my fears were allayed. A shadowed figure appeared in the end of the tunnel, so suddenly that I startled, hand straying to the grip of my mace before I recognized her. "Sul-" she whispered, and got no further before I jerked the mask off my face and kissed her, pulling her deeper inside the tunnel.

"Gods, I've missed you," she breathed, when I finally let her go. My heart, already racing, skipped a beat or three at her words.

"Have you been here since Ald Daedroth?" I asked, a little breathlessly.

"Mostly. I hid in Rotheran until I was sure you had gone, and then made my way here to wait until things die down."

I shook my head. "I don't think they _will_ die down, Amurah. The Temple is outraged about this. You see the measures they're taking, don't you? We've been walking for weeks, from Vivec to Maar Gan, stopping at every town and homestead along the way, looking for you. There's a reward for anyone with information on Nethalen's killer; they're trying to get the entire population looking for you."

I saw her shoulders shrug in the darkness. "And when they find nothing? How long will they keep looking, once the whole island has been searched without success?"

"Just... be careful," I warned her. "The Temple already suspects the Morag Tong. If they find you... it won't be pleasant."

"Why, Sul," she murmured, and I could hear the amusement in her voice. "I almost believe you're concerned for me..."

I didn't deny it, letting my fingertip trace the scar across her cheek. "Who requested the Writ on Aroa Nethalen? And why?" I asked softly.

She stiffened slightly, letting out a terse breath. "Always the same questions, with you," she murmured. "What does it matter? It was a legitimate Writ, approved by Eno Hlaalu himself. If you were higher in the Guild, he might answer your questions, but he didn't even tell _me_ when I took the assignment."

I sighed. It had been worth a try. "Very well. Legitimacy aside, Nethalen's death may be just the thing to convince people to outlaw the Guild in Morrowind, too. Just like the rest of the Empire."

Amurah let out a short huff of laughter. "We'll see," she said, sounding entirely unconvinced.

"I should go," I said reluctantly. "I've been gone too long already."

"All right. I'll send word when I can." She pulled me into another kiss. I could have stayed like that forever, with her in my arms, and the Temple be damned.

The next instant, all the past months of secrecy and caution fell away from me like a precipice dropping from beneath my feet, as Uryth stepped into the end of the tunnel, his mace in one hand and a lantern in the other. "Step away from her, Sul."

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

We froze, while my heart lurched in a reaction of pure shock. I stared at Uryth over Amurah's shoulder and wondered how much he'd overheard. Slowly, we parted, and she turned to face him. He eyed both of us, and though he wore his helm, I could see the disbelief in his demeanor, in the way he held his weapon as if unsure he needed it.

"It was _you_?" He asked Amurah, incredulously. " _You_ were the one who killed Nethalen?"

She nodded once, but he had already turned his attention to me. "And you _knew?_ Sul, what...?"

The wind was beginning to pick up; thunder growled, closer than before. Amurah shifted on her feet, subtly, and I saw the point of a throwing star slip from her sleeve, glinting dully against her palm.

"Uryth," I said steadily, stepping forward and putting all the authority I could muster into my voice. "This is not your concern. Turn around and walk away, right now." I put myself between him and Amurah, hoping she would take the opportunity to leave through the other end of the tunnel. She didn't.

It almost worked. I watched his eyes flicker from me to Amurah, and back again; then his grip tightened on his mace, and he set down the lantern. "No," he said firmly. "I don't understand what's happening here, Sul, but I sent for Tarer when I saw both of you meet back here. You're not leaving until he arrives."

I opened my mouth to reply, and Uryth dropped to his knees, clutching at the throwing star that suddenly protruded from his throat, between his helm and cuirass. Standing in front of Amurah, I hadn't seen her move; now I turned, startled, to meet her gaze. We had time to share one glance, her eyes grave, before shouting erupted in the streets, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Someone had seen Uryth fall.

"Get out!" I hissed, shoving Amurah toward the other end of the tunnel. As we turned to make our escape, Tarer Braryn and the other Ordinators in our party appeared at the tunnel mouth, backed by what must have been the town's entire contingent of Redoran guards.

Blinded by the torches they carried, I halted. Quick as lightning, Amurah snaked her arm around my neck and hauled me aside, pressing the edge of a knife against my unprotected throat. Setting her back against the wall, so she could watch both ends of the tunnel, she pulled me tight against her, shielding herself behind me. "Move back," she told them. "Or I'll slice him open."

To our left, the Redoran guards hesitated; to our right, Tarer took a step forward, his voice as impassive as the helm he wore. "I think not, sera. Uryth sent word that he saw the two of you... together. I don't believe you'll harm him."

"Willing to wager his life on it?" Amurah asked softly. "I'm a killer, backed into a corner with no other options. You think I _won't_ kill him just for the sake of taking one of you with me?"

I swallowed, with a nervousness that was only partly feigned. Tarer hesitated, studying the two of us wordlessly, and the moment dragged on into what felt like hours. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the Redorans raising his crossbow, taking aim at Amurah.

"No!" I twisted in her grip, putting myself between her and the bowman, throwing up one arm to shield my unprotected head. The crossbow bolt hit my bracer with enough force to stagger me, but my armor held true and deflected it to the side. Amurah let me go.

Everyone was quiet, wondering what to make of this development. The wind gusted suddenly, making the torches gutter and flare. "So Uryth was correct," Tarer said into the silence. "Sul Daerys, I hereby place you under arrest for conspiracy against the Tribunal Temple, and Vivec have mercy on you when you're turned over to the Inquisition." He turned his gaze to Amurah. "And you... Am I to assume that I previously knew you as Hanirai Marpaal?"

She nodded once, a faint smile gracing her lips, and I braced myself for what was to come.

"Both of you, place whatever weapons you carry on the ground, and step back."

Amurah and I glanced at each other, only for an instant before she whirled away, blade flashing in the torchlight. I slipped my mace from its loop at my belt and settled my feet into a defensive stance, while sounds of battle arose behind me.

"You only dig your own grave now, Sul," Tarer warned me, stepping forward.

I said nothing, only adjusted the grip on my mace. He was right; but what was I to do? Abandon Amurah, let her be captured and tortured? The Inquisition frightened me enough as it was; I couldn't leave her to that fate. So when Tarer lunged forward, the head of his mace whistling as it flew toward me, I fought back.

Despite the circumstances, I felt the familiar exhilaration rising in me, the brush of Mephala's hungry presence, as the battle escalated. I struggled to keep it in check, to remember that these were my brothers, and that I didn't truly want to hurt them. I was careful, fighting only to preserve myself and not to kill. I didn't look back, trusting Amurah to ward my back just as I did hers. The tunnel was narrow enough that only one or two could reach me at a time; I held my ground and let none of them pass, sending Tarer stumbling away with a broken knee and knocking another one unconscious.

Amurah won free first, having no such compunctions about preserving life. She shouted my name from outside, and I caught one Ordinator's mace against my own, shoving him with all my strength. He stumbled backward, knocking another off balance, and I turned and ran, leaping over scattered Redoran bodies and following Amurah into the night.

We ran northwest, cutting through the dusty Ashlands and leaving the shouts and torches behind. I followed her when she ducked behind a massive, towering stone, leaning against it to catch her breath.

"We have to separate," she managed to gasp out. Too breathless myself, I only nodded. Thunder crashed again overhead, and raindrops began to pelt the ground, ice-cold on my bare head.

"You'll have to lose the armor," she pointed out. "They'll be looking for a lone Ordinator without a helm, now." I nodded again, glancing warily behind us. I couldn't see anything in the dark, through the pouring rain, but we hadn't gotten so far ahead of pursuit that we could stay in one place very long.

"Get to Ald-ruhn," Amurah said. "The Guild will hide you. Wait for me there; I'll find you when I can."

I pulled her close and kissed her, desperately, as rainwater streamed over both of us. "Be careful," I warned her, reluctant to let her go.

She smiled, pulling away and fading from sight with a muttered spell. Wasting no time, I methodically began stripping off my armor, leaving it in a neat pile on the ground. I laid my mace across the top of it, knowing it was too conspicuous a weapon to keep. I kept only my Temple-issued knife and the Ring of Khajiit. I clenched both of them in my fist as I stood in the rain, clad only in my trousers, staring down at the remains of the life I was about to leave behind.

"Vivec forgive me," I whispered aloud, unwilling to leave. The wind gusted again, bringing faint snatches of sound over the storm: voices shouting, I realized. With a grimace, I slipped the ring onto my finger, cast its spell, and ran into the night.

It was easier than I expected to reach Ald-ruhn unseen; fear drove me to move faster than I normally would, but it was unnecessary. The ring lent me stealth and speed, allowing me to circle around Maar Gan and head for the coastline unnoticed. As the worst of the storm abated slightly, leaving only a slow, steady rain, I reached the sea, and plunged into the water to hide my trail.

With no one in sight along the shoreline, I removed the ring, saving its magicka for a greater need. For the rest of the night, and most of the next morning, I sloshed slowly through knee-deep waves, heading south along the coast. My bare feet quickly grew numb in the cold water, which was a blessing. Used to boots as I was, the rocky shoreline made for slow, painful travel. I had plenty of time to ruminate over my new predicament, but my mind felt as numb and frozen as my feet. I had just forsaken everything I had spent my life serving, and it was too much to contemplate. _Just get to Ald-ruhn,_ I told myself. _When you stop to rest, then you can think about it._ The rain finally eased to a drizzle just before midday, when the outline of the stronghold Andasreth appeared on the horizon and I judged it time to turn inland.

By this time, after traveling all night and having eaten nothing, I was beginning to tire. The adrenaline that had fueled my earlier flight was gone now, leaving only exhaustion, and I was tempted to use the ring again... But I knew I'd need it later. A shirtless, shoeless, muddy and generally bedraggled Dunmer would never be able to enter Ald-ruhn without raising uncomfortable questions, I knew.

So I pressed onward without it, as the foliage of the Bitter Coast faded into the gray rocks of the Ashlands. Not until I reached the town, late that afternoon, did I reactivate the Ring of Khajiit.

And I was glad I did, for the settlement was in a state of controlled chaos. The cobbled streets were filled with citizens, milling about confusedly, and I passed a group of Ordinators as I snuck among the buildings. I paused to watch them, sheltered out of the way along the side of a bookseller's shop, my heart pounding. They moved from door to door, in pairs, more urgency in their movements than I'd expected; rather than simply questioning the townsfolk, they actually searched their homes. Word of my defection had already spread. Breathing a silent prayer, I stole around the far side of the hut and continued toward the Under-Skar district.

After carefully maneuvering my way around the guards on the narrow walkways, I slipped through the door to the Morag Tong Guildhall. It was in disarray, books scattered across the room, a table overturned. I made it halfway into the main hall before I remembered to take off the ring, and my sudden appearance caused several assassins to leap to their feet, weapons at the ready.

I raised my hands wearily, showing that I meant no harm. I recognized Hoki, the surly Nord who'd spoken to me not two days ago, but before he could confront me, Goren Andarys approached, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Sul Daerys," he said in a low voice. "You are a hunted man, Associate. Your Temple brothers were here not half an hour ago, searching for you. There is a very large reward offered for your capture, and I wonder if I should not turn you in myself, to compensate for the damage they've done to my hall."

Unexpectedly, my temper flared, borne of exhaustion, hunger and desperation. "They search for me," I hissed angrily, stepping closer, "because I threw away everything I have ever known to prevent Amurah from being captured. It was _her_ wish to meet me here and get aid from _you_. Turn me in, and she'll kill you herself. Will you help me, or not?"

To his credit, Goren didn't flinch, only regarded me with a cool gaze. "Come with me," he said finally, leading me deeper into the Guildhall.

In the lower level, he gestured to a corner table which, mercifully, had a full meal set out already. He disappeared while I ate, and perhaps I should have been more wary of his absence, but I was too ravenous to care. When I'd eaten my fill, he returned with a bundle of clothing: dark pants and shirt, leather boots and cuirass, and a helm of boiled netch leather that concealed one's face, such as the one I'd worn for assassinations in Vivec.

"This is the most I can do," he said shortly, setting the bundle on the table. "It's too dangerous to hide you here; the Ordinators made it clear that anyone harboring you will be arrested. We will keep the secret that you were here, but you cannot stay."

That was just as well, I supposed, finishing a last bite of food and pushing my plate away. After his earlier comments, I wasn't sure I trusted him enough to stay; I'd have to sleep with one eye open.

"You may rest here until this evening," he continued, watching me inspect the clothing he'd brought. "Take whatever weapons or provisions you may need. After dark, Salyni will accompany you to the Mages' Guild, where you can get transport to Sadrith Mora. Speak to Dunsalipal at the Morag Tong hall there; he can shelter you better than I. The town is Telvanni, and the people will be less inclined to let Ordinators overrun it."

"You will tell Amurah where to find me?"

He nodded gravely. "If she comes here, I will tell her myself. If not... I will send word throughout the Guild, that she is to go to Sadrith Mora. I will not mention you, except directly to her."

It would have to do. I thanked him, and he left me alone in the chamber without another word.

I changed out of my sodden trousers and donned the clothing Goren had brought. The soles of my feet were bruised and torn with a myriad of small cuts; not to mention covered in ashy mud. I had to wash and bandage them before I put on my new boots. In a crate along one wall, I found an iron mace that I fastened to my belt. It was lighter and less sturdy than I was used to, but it would suffice. Not trusting to the pockets of my borrowed trousers, I left the ring, Mephala's gift, on my finger. I had no need to hide it, now, and maybe the sight of it would convince Goren Andarys that betraying me would anger the Spider.

Once more fully clothed and armed, I sat back down at the table, intending to adjust the cuirass to a proper fit... And awoke some hours later, slumped over the table with my head on my arms, when Salyni Nelvayn came to escort me to the Mages' Guild.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

I arrived in the Mages' Guild of Sadrith Mora with a flare of light, wavering unsteadily on my feet. The Guild Guide, an Altmer woman, kindly gave me directions to the Gateway Inn before I left.

The Mages' Guild and a few other services were housed in the imposing Wolverine Hall, a small fortress built on the water's edge a short walk from the town. I saw no sign of a Tribunal Temple presence as I went in search of the local chapter of the Morag Tong, but a Telvanni guard stopped me before I got very far. "It is past curfew, ser. Do you have your hospitality papers?"

"Ah... no, I've only just arrived, courtesy of the Mages' Guild." I nearly let the rest of my cover story spill out; I had to bite my tongue to keep from babbling nervously and arousing his suspicions.

The guard made an annoyed sound under his breath. "They should know better than to accept travelers after curfew," he muttered, adding, "Come with me, I'll escort you to the Gateway. You'll have to pass the night there until you can get your papers in the morning."

I opened my mouth to demur, and shut it quickly. I was supposed to be only a down-on-his-luck trader, hungry and footsore. Ostensibly, I had every reason to desire a hot meal and a warm bed, and no reason at all to visit the Assassins' Guild. So I thanked the guard instead, and followed him to the inn.

There, I gave the false name that Goren had agreed to tell Amurah-- Zennasi Kaurath-- and was assigned a private room in the west wing. After leaving word that I was expecting my wife to join me in a few days' time-- strange words, that I'd never thought I'd speak, even in jest-- I went straight to my room and slept like the dead for nearly a full day.

I awoke late the next afternoon, thoroughly disoriented. I lay on my back and stared up at the high, twisting ceiling of my Telvanni-style room, and wondered where in the names of the Three I was. When memory returned, it was like a blow to the stomach; the implications of my defection from the Temple came rushing back to me all at once.

Grimly, I refused to think about it as I rose and dressed. _It is done and past, and no use brooding over it,_ I told myself. Leaving my mace in the room, I went in search of a meal.

Thus began some of the strangest days I'd ever experienced. I shared my false story with those who showed a polite interest: A Velothi trader from Ald-ruhn, I was supposed to meet my wife, who had gone to sell goods in Tel Mora. We hoped to purchase slaves at a reasonable price in Sadrith Mora and turn a profit from them in Suran. I declined to purchase the required hospitality papers until my "wife" arrived, and spent most of my time in my room, pleading the excuse of severe headaches. I reckoned it safer that way; the fewer people who saw me, the less chance I had of being pointed out if Ordinators came searching.

That second night, I snuck out of the inn, using Mephala's ring, to see Dunsalipal Dun-Ahhe at the Morag Tong hall. More willing to help than Goren had been, he promised to assign guildmembers to watch the outskirts of the town, and to send warning to me if any Ordinators were seen approaching.

It was odd, spending such a long period of time without an obligation to the Temple. The knowledge of the heresy I'd committed still sat in the back of my head, waiting for me to acknowledge it; but when I tried to pray to the Three or the Saints or even Mephala, I felt nothing. No sense of their presence, no solace in the act of prayer itself. So instead, I read books in my room, or polished my iron mace until it gleamed, all the while wondering when Amurah would arrive, and what I would do if she did not.

I spent a total of three days this way. On the fourth night, after a few hours' sleep, I awoke to the sound of a soft knock at my door. I jerked awake instantly, my heart pounding, wondering if the Temple had found me.

My hand on the hilt of my knife, I padded silently across the rug and cracked open the door. Amurah stood there, wearing a small smile and looking considerably less travel-stained than I had when I'd arrived at the inn.

"Thank the Three," I breathed, pulling her into my arms. She had always been lean, but she felt slighter than I remembered; she hadn't been eating well, I guessed.

She kicked the door shut behind her. "Miss me?" she asked with that teasing smile in her voice, her lips brushing my ear. A shiver ran through me; the touch of her skin was still like a flash of fire and ice. I leaned back to look at her.

"Yes," I said simply. She smiled, and kissed me. I responded with an abandon and a passion I didn't know I possessed, pushing her back against the door and kissing her as thoroughly as I knew how. Everything in my life that was familiar had fallen away from me, but she was still here, and I clung desperately to that fact. She responded in kind, her hands going to the ties on my trousers.

I don't remember how we made it to the bed, or when; but we did, for that was where we finished. Afterward, I leaned on my elbow, gazing down at her and tracing the pattern of old, faded scars across her abdomen. "Are you alright?" I asked softly, noting the way her ribs seemed more pronounced beneath her skin.

Amurah grinned. "I am _now_." At my urging, she told me how she had fled through the storm and the Ashlands, all the way to Caldera, taking a roundabout route to Ald-ruhn and arriving the morning after I had left. After resting at the Guild and packing a few provisions, she took a silt-strider to Balmora, worried that the Mages' Guild guides might suspect something. Our descriptions had been given out to the townsfolk by then, and though we were believed to be traveling together, Amurah didn't want to take the risk of some mage noticing two people of our description travelling to the same place. She'd arrived in Sadrith Mora less than an hour ago.

I frowned, my hand stilling on her skin. "You know they're not going to give up until they find us."

Unconcerned, she shifted to lay on her side, facing me. "Then we'll have to go someplace they won't look." Her fingertip drew a slow line down my torso.

I shook my head. "It was bad enough when there was an unknown killer they had to find. Now that they know you, and I've broken faith with the Temple... There isn't anyplace on Vvardenfell they won't turn upside down, searching for the two of us."

"So we'll go to Solstheim," she breathed, pressing her lips to my throat as her hand slid lower. "We'll start a new chapter of the Morag Tong, and assassinate the corrupt Imperials when the colonists request Writs against them."

I would have laughed, except that my breath was caught in my throat and I could only concentrate on what her hands were doing on my flesh. "Amurah..." It came out as a groan, and she smiled up at me.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," she whispered, and drew me down to kiss her.

\----

Overtired from the night's exertions, I slept later than usual, awakening to find Amurah sitting cross-legged on the floor, poring over a map as she ate. I roused and dressed while Amurah, all business, mapped out routes aloud, speaking half to herself. When she mentioned Solstheim, though, I paused, my belt only half-buckled. "I thought you were joking," I said.

"Got a better idea?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

"No," I admitted, and sat down next to her. "It sounds wonderful."

She smiled, but it was reserved; something shadowed lurked in her eyes. "Are you truly willing to leave the Temple behind, Sul?"

I stared down at my hands. "I don't know," I said honestly. "It is the only faith I've ever known, and I... I don't know how I feel about betraying it. But I have no real choice; the only thing left for me in the Temple is torture at the hands of the Inquisition."

"Well, thank you," she said, a little crossly. "I'm glad you've decided that my company is preferable to torture." She looked back at the map, annoyed, and I reached out a hand to turn her chin back towards me.

"I meant what I said," I told her softly. "It _does_ sound wonderful. I know how I feel about _you_ , Amurah; and I would rather be with you in Solstheim, than anywhere else in Morrowind without you."

It was the closest either of us had come to admitting there was more between us than the Spider God's meddling, and it made her hesitate. "Truly?" she whispered, and I nodded.

She smiled again, no reservations in it this time, and it sent a rush of warmth through me.

"That's good," she teased. "Because I don't think you'd get very far in Solstheim without me."

"Likely not," I agreed easily, returning her smile. The surreal nature of it hit me then: all through my life of service to the Temple, I never imagined myself sitting in a Telvanni inn with an assassin, plotting a journey to Solstheim.

If my expression changed to reflect my thoughts, Amurah didn't notice, having already turned back to her maps. A hint of amusement still hovered at the corner of her mouth. "Ships are only authorized to sail to Solstheim from Khuul, but I don't think the ship captains here will sail all the way around the northern coast to get there. We'll have to stop at Dagon Fel and change ships." She began to roll up the map, and I rose to gather my few possessions, glad to leave Sadrith Mora and its unfamiliar Telvanni atmosphere.

As it turned out, we didn't leave as soon as I'd expected. Amurah pointed out that, since I'd shared my false story with the other guests at the inn, we were probably expected to shop for slaves, so we spent a fruitless morning perusing the slave market. This was something far outside my area of experience, and I was content to say little, letting Amurah play the part of a shrewd trader. Finally, after looking at every available slave and finding none to match her exacting standards, Amurah thanked the disgruntled slave-trader and remarked that perhaps we'd have better luck farther north.

Unfortunately, we arrived at the docks just before noon, about an hour _after_ the last boat to Dagon Fel had departed. Amurah and I glanced at each other, then back at the captain who provided the more local travel. "You can probably get transport from Tel Mora," he suggested. "But I'll have to put you ashore in Vos. They aren't too happy to see men arriving in Tel Mora, though they'll be glad enough to see you take a ship out."

We looked at each other again, and I shrugged. "Very well," Amurah said, handing the captain his travel-fee. We departed immediately, under a brilliant late-morning sun that cast near-blinding reflections off the waves.

I felt my mood lift a bit as we set out on this new beginning. Amurah and I remained on the upper deck of the ship as the scattered islands of Zafirbel Bay passed us by. We stayed out of earshot from the ship captain, and quietly confirmed the rest of our plans. After we arrived in Vos, Amurah would hurry to nearby Tel Mora-- well known for its hospitality to women but not men-- and try to secure transport for us to Dagon Fel. We would meet at the Varo Tradehouse in Vos when she'd finished, purchase a few provisions, and be on our way before sundown, we hoped.

\----

Standing alone on the Vos dock after watching Amurah depart for Tel Mora, I stared up at the twisting form of the Varo Tradehouse, and decided I'd spent enough time in the dark, organic rooms of traditional Telvanni construction. Resolving to return to the Tradehouse in time to meet Amurah, I began climbing the hill toward the village proper.

Vos itself was a strange confliction of Telvanni "mushrooms" and more familiar stone houses. It was a pleasant enough town, farmhouses mostly, clustered with cheerful haphazardness and crossed with mid-afternoon shadows. I stopped and stared when I recognized the entrance to a Tribunal Temple, a simple archway leading to an inner courtyard. I knew that the Temple was trying to expand its influence, but I hadn't heard they'd built a chapel this deep inside Telvanni territory.

Against my better judgment, I drifted through the archway, hearing the bustle of street merchants, the low roar of the waves, grow fainter. I stood inside the courtyard, gazing up at the thorny tree that curled around the dome of the chapel, feeling something in my soul ease as the familiar sense of peace settled over me.

Perhaps I should not have gone into the temple, but I did. I let my feet carry me up the steps and through the door, into the simple, low-ceilinged room. There were no saintly altars, but the sacrificial pit was set about with the three candles for the Tribunal, and I sank to my knees on one of the prayer benches, bowing my head.

For a long time, I simply knelt there, eyes closed, tuning out the soft murmurs of the chapel's other occupants and sinking into the meditative trance I hadn't even attempted since Maar Gan. I imagined myself kneeling before the Three, eyes squeezed shut against the brilliance of their combined presence, and having no words to say, no apologies or pleas for forgiveness, though I tried desperately to speak.

Unexpectedly, hot tears prickled at the backs of my eyes. _Blessed Poet,_ I prayed finally, _merciful Mother, mysterious Sorcerer, I have fallen farther from your path than I ever believed possible. I believed I was doing your will, somehow, at the beginning... Now, I am unsure. It was never my wish to abandon your Temple, nor my vows to you. I want to find my way back within your grace, but I fear I have fallen too far to return._ I felt a tear escape the corner of my eye, trickle down my cheek and drop with a tiny sound onto my leather cuirass.

The Almsivi had never spoken to me directly, not in the way Mephala had, with the voice of a deity thundering incomprehensible words in my mortal head... But in the space of time as that single teardrop fell, I felt them, all three of them, the briefest brush against me, imparting their blessing. I felt my heart soar, knowing that I was forgiven, that I had not done anything they hadn't expected me to do. I still had a purpose, still served their will, somehow, though others named me a traitor for what I had done.

In the next instant, the feeling was gone, replaced by a sudden tingling between my shoulder blades. I snapped out of the trance immediately, becoming fully alert at once, though something told me to keep my head down. I heard the door to the chapel open, and saw, from the corner of my eye, several pairs of Indoril boots crowd into the room.

I tensed, grateful that I was facing slightly away from the group of Ordinators, and forced myself to keep my eyes mostly shut, to be nothing more than just another passing traveler deep in his devotions. I listened as they greeted the priest, read him a description of myself and Amurah, and a list of the crimes we were charged with.

It was a long list, and seemed to be made longer by the fact that I had to wait it out. Tension knotted every muscle in my body, and every instinct was screaming for me to leap to my feet and attack before they recognized me, before they could take advantage of me on my knees. It was one of the most difficult things I'd ever had to do. I managed, though, even with my heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it across the room.

Finally, they departed, with a reminder to the priest that they'd be in town for a day or two if he needed to reach them. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, as they exited the chapel. I made myself wait a little longer, give them time to move away from the Temple, though all I could think about was Amurah running into them on the street and being arrested, or worse. After a few minutes, I rose stiffly, pretending to be just emerging from my meditation.

I couldn't face the priest now, after he'd just heard my description, but it might be noted if I left the chapel without making a donation. Reaching into a pocket, I pulled out a coin and set it on the prayer bench I'd used. Then, my heart in my throat, I made for the door, feeling the priest's sharp gaze on my back as I left.

Outside, it was nearly sunset; the sun was half hidden behind the peaks of the Ashlands already. I kept my head down, sticking to the shadows as I hurried out of town. I didn't see the Ordinators, but I heard them, questioning a few townsfolk in the streets behind me. When I arrived at the Tradehouse, I hurried inside and sighed with relief when I found Amurah. She was leaning over a pile of goods on the counter, engaged in friendly conversation with the woman on the other side. She was wearing different clothes, and her hair shone faintly, damp.

I came up behind her and caught her arm. She tensed, then relaxed when she saw it was me. I drew her away from the counter and leaned over to murmur in her ear, "We're leaving. Now. I don't care if the only boat will take us back to Sadrith Mora; we can't stay here."

She glanced back at the store owner, who looked away hurriedly. Amurah pitched her voice so low I could barely hear it, smiling as if making a private jest, but her words were serious. "We can't," she breathed. "They're watching the docks at Tel Mora. I was lucky I wasn't seen; I had swim back here. Where have you been?"

I grimaced. "We've got to get out of Vos; there are Ordinators here too, looking for us. Finish getting whatever provisions we need, and let's go."

She nodded tersely and returned to the counter to pay for the stack of food and other supplies, while I waited by the door and tried not to tap my foot restlessly. We divided the provisions into a bag for each of us, and then hurried outside, hidden in the twilit shadows as we made for the Grazelands.


	17. Chapter 17

Dawn came slowly the next morning, as if it were a struggle for the sun to rise above the clouds clustering on the horizon. The voices of unfamiliar Grazeland wildlife began to sound as the light grew. Even when the sun rose higher, it remained dark in the colonnaded platform of the Daedric shrine in which we'd taken shelter for the night.

I sat with legs crossed, elbows leaning on my knees, watching Amurah. Where she'd lain down after trading the watch with me some hours earlier, she slept with a sense of reckless abandonment, long limbs stretched out atop our few blankets, heedless of the early-morning chill. One of her short swords, though, lay within easy reach, and I knew that she'd be awake in an instant if necessary.

I watched her sleep, and thought about our plans, about Solstheim. It was a wild and untamed land, I'd heard, with scattered pockets of Nord settlements in the north, and a tiny, new Imperial colony along the southern coast. Rumors hinted at weather so cold that raindrops froze into crystals before reaching the ground, and at tree-spirits that required three deaths to defeat. In any other circumstance, I wouldn't have considered the island as a place to flee, would have rather taken my chances on Vvardenfell.

But Amurah would be with me, and I had spoken truly to her the morning before. I didn't want to be without her. I still had my faith in the Tribunal, and their blessing, but my vows to their Temple were shattered beyond repair. In place of my vows, I had only the Morag Tong, and Amurah. Watching her sleep, I realized with that I didn't want to lose her... and that, given the choice once more, I would gladly trade my vows for her again.

_So easily swayed by the pleasures of the flesh_ , a cynical, guilty part of me whispered. _Is this what you spent your life training and studying for? To throw it away for the sake of a Daedric-worshipping assassin and the warmth she provides in your bed?_

I scowled at myself, watching Amurah shift drowsily. Even asleep, she moved with grace, though it was more careless than it was predatory. _It is more than that,_ I told myself. _She--_

A sudden rustling startled me to my feet, and my mace was in my hand before I realized it. I moved toward the perimeter of our shelter, walking its edge and finding nothing.

"What is it?" Amurah asked quietly, and I turned to see her crouching atop the blankets, her naked blade in one hand and its sheath in the other. No trace of sleep remained on her features; she was all danger and readiness.

"Probably nothing," I replied, relaxing slightly. "Just an animal, I think."

Amurah slid the weapon back into its sheath with a snap, and rose to her feet. "We should get moving," she said, strapping the sheath back into place against her thigh and bending down to roll up the blankets. I moved to help her, and when all was ready, we peered at her map again, squinting in the pale light.

"It'll take a while for us to reach Khuul on foot," she observed. "A few days, at least. But it'll be nearly impossible for anyone who's looking to find us. The whole northern edge of Vvardenfell is pretty empty. Plenty of places to hide." She rolled up the map, and nodded to the northwest. "We'll head that way." With a smile, she added, "It's going to seem odd, traveling with you and _not_ having you try to lose me at every opportunity."

I grinned, for the first time I could remember since my childhood. "Maybe I should try anyway, for nostalgia's sake," I teased her. She laughed, a clear sound that made my heart soar giddily, and we set out.

So began the happiest time I had ever known. We traversed the coast at a leisurely pace, watching the terrain slowly fade from the lush grass of the Grazelands, to the rocks of Sheogorad, to the dusty hills of Ashlander territory. When we could, we spent the evenings in Daedric shrines or Dwemer ruins; when there weren't any, we camped on the sands of the beach and slept in shifts, lulled by the music of the waves. We saw no one but the occasional black shalk or cliff racer, which we dispatched easily enough. We talked-- about the Morag Tong, and the Temple, about our lives in one and our impressions of the other. I felt free, as I never had before in my life; I could almost forget that my former brothers of the Temple were pursuing us, that somehow I still had at least one task to perform for whichever god had set me on this path.

We traveled this way for five days, until the ashen ground began to give way to swampy pools. We were nearing Khuul. On the fifth evening, as the shadows began to lengthen, we climbed over a steep hill to find ourselves atop a ridge, looking down on a derelict shipwreck that was wedged among the rocks. We paused to catch our breath, and Amurah cast a sidelong glance at me, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a smile.

"Remember the last time we passed a night in a shipwreck, Sul?"

I smiled, feeling my blood heat at the memory. "Yes..." I murmured, watching her.

That seemed to settle it; though darkness was some hours away, we set up camp in the hold of the ship. Inside, we found crates full of dishes, and well-preserved foodstuffs, and Amurah surprised me by cooking a stew of saltrice and crabmeat over a small fire we built, safely away from the wrecked ship. It was simple fare, but after the past days of cold bread and kwama eggs for meals, it was delicious. We sat together on the upper deck of the ship to eat from salvaged bowls and watch the advent of night.

When I'd eaten every morsel of food I could clean from my bowl, and savored every bit of it, I set the dish aside and leaned back against the rail of the ship, watching the sun's reflection stretch across the waves. Amurah cast a sideways glance at me. "You're quiet tonight."

"Just thinking," I said. "It's going to be dangerous, going into Khuul. We'll have to be careful."

She nodded. Silence stretched between us for a moment before she spoke again, with a hard edge in her voice. "Before we leave here, Sul, I need to know that you're fully committed to this plan of ours. I trust you, but... we don't know if your Ordinator brothers will be there waiting for us, or if we'll need to fight them. I won't take us into town if you aren't willing to do that, or if you think you might hesitate."

I met her deep scarlet gaze squarely. "Amurah," I said quietly, and then paused, wondering how best to put my thoughts into words. "I don't want to kill anyone, especially not the men I fought alongside for my whole life. But I will do whatever is necessary to get us both into Khuul and onto a ship to Solstheim." I reached up and ran the backs of my fingers across her cheek, along the faint scar that arced across it. "You have given me something to hope for, to work towards. I never had a dream before, and I will not let anything take that away from us."

"Thank you," Amurah whispered. "I'm sorry, Sul; I had to ask."

"I know. Don't apologize." I smiled at her. "If we were going to fight the Morag Tong instead, I'd be asking you the same thing."

"And I would give you the same answer," she breathed, and leaned forward to kiss me. My other hand sank into her hair as the kiss deepened, and then she pulled away, rising to her feet. She smiled down at me, then turned and headed for the trapdoor leading to the hold. "We've got some extra hours to spend here, since we made camp so early," she said, and then shot me a wicked smile over her shoulder. "You coming?"

As it happened, we spent the entire next day and night at the shipwreck. Despite our eagerness to get off Vvardenfell and out of the Temple's reach, we had found a shelter that was well-hidden, dry, and stocked with food, and it seemed a shame to leave it behind so soon. We judged it was safe enough to stay a little longer, and I was glad we did. Though we kept ourselves busy, it was still nearly a luxury to stay in one place for a whole day. We conducted a more thorough search of the ship and packed what provisions we thought we could use, reckoning that it would be better than purchasing meals from the ship captain on our way to Solstheim. We found gold, too, that Amurah pocketed to pay for our transport. We checked our armor, ensuring that it was ready for combat if necessary, and discussed our plans over and over, until we were both satisfied with them.

We retired early again that second night, and made love in our tangled bedrolls with a deep passion, slowly and without words. I traced the curves and lines of her body with lips and fingers, and hoped desperately that it would not be the last night we spent in each others' arms.

The next morning brought a cover of fog that diffused the sunlight and made it nearly impossible to guess the hour. It only grew thicker as we approached Khuul. A light drizzle was beginning to fall when the tiny village finally emerged from the mist.

We had debated entering the town together or separately. Finally, we decided that since we would be leaving on the same ship, it would be less suspicious if we were obviously acquainted with each other when we arrived. I wore the leather helm that Goren Andarys had given me in Ald-ruhn, with the Ring of Khajiit readied on my finger.

I had hoped Amurah could use the same spell that had disguised her when she'd been Hanirai Marpaal, but she had returned the enchanted amulet to the Morag Tong in Balmora after fleeing Maar Gan. She made do with what we had, darkening the faded scar on her cheek with ashes from our campfire and tying a length of cloth around her head to hide her short brown hair. She had a Recall scroll tucked away, ready to whisk her away to the Morag Tong in Balmora if necessary. From what I could tell, no one who had survived the fight in Maar Gan, in the dark and the rain, had gotten a very good look at Amurah. We had to hope that her meager disguise would be enough.

We glanced at each other wordlessly as we approached the edge of town. I drew in a sharp breath at the eye contact; the pull between us seemed stronger, even more intense than usual. Amurah gave me a reassuring smile before we continued into the fishing village.

A pair of Ordinators, Indoril armor glinting dully in the mist, stood outside the only Redoran-style building, a tradehouse. We strode by without altering our pace, without looking at them, but my heart was pounding at triple its normal speed.

They eyed us disinterestedly as we passed, and said nothing. I didn't relax, though, until something caught my eye. "Do you see any ships at the docks?" I asked Amurah softly.

I watched her follow my gaze, seeing no sails or masts rising from behind the shacks that lined the water's edge. She cursed under her breath, and began to walk more quickly.

The tiny harbor was indeed empty of ships, and my heart sank as we hurried to the end of the dock. A lone Khajiit crouched there, winding a length of rope into a coil and humming to himself. He stood up as we approached, eyeing us warily.

"Where is your vessel, shipmaster?" Amurah asked tersely.

The Khajiit spread his arms to the side, his mouth opening in a fanged smile. "Apologies, serrrra," he said in a heavy accent. "My partner Talmeni, she took the _Omenwedur_ to Gnaarrrr Mok. Will not return until tomorrow evening."

Amurah and I exchanged a glance; this was starting to become a theme on this journey. "How much is your usual fare for transport to Solstheim?" I asked.

"Fifty-six gold for two, serrr-"

"We'll give you seventy," Amurah said quickly, "and another thirty upon arrival, if you will sail immediately after your partner returns, and ask no questions."

I could see the gleam that her offer lit in the shipmaster's eyes, but he spread his arms again in that apologetic shrug. "Not so easssy, serrra," he rumbled. "The Temple Dunmer, they requirrrre to be cleared all ships' passengerssss on departure. It takesss time, maybe some hours, and many questions asked."

I grimaced under my mask. At my side, Amurah raised her offer. "One hundred fifty gold."

The Khajiit hesitated. "Yourrr offer is kind, serrra, but the Temple Dunmer, they are not. To defy their rulesss, I maybe go to prison. Maybe not come home to Khuul, afterrr. Or, I lose fares from passengerssss not taken because of your hurry."

"Two hundred," I said, knowing it would strain our meager resources. "That's nearly four times your usual rate, Khajiit, and more than fair."

The shipmaster's slitted eyes flickered from Amurah to myself, and back again. "This one speakssss truth. The _Omenwedur_ will sail for two hundred, beforrre the Temple Dunmer know she hassss returned. Half now, to hold against other passengers, serrra."

"Fifty-six now, to hold for us two," Amurah said flatly, beginning to count out the payment. "Forty-four when we sail, and the other hundred in Solstheim."

The Khajiit agreed, taking the money and tucking it into a pocket. "I think you are very desperate, yesss?" He asked quietly, eyeing us. "Perhaps you arrre the ones they search for?"

I tensed, gritting my teeth. "Believe what you will," Amurah said coolly. "But there will be no questions asked, or we'll give our gold to a captain with more discretion."

The Khajiit's feline grin widened unnervingly. "S'virr has been desperate, too, serrra. For two hundred gold, yourrr secrets are safe. Come at full dark tomorrow, and we sail as soon as your feet are on deck, yesss?"

We agreed, and hurried out of the village as quickly as we dared, passing another pair of Ordinators. At least four of them, then, watching for us. I hoped it was no more than that.

A fairly safe distance outside the village, we found an old tomb, due south of Khuul across a narrow inlet, well hidden by the uneven terrain. I made for it as soon as we noticed its entrance, and not until we were inside did either of us speak. "I don't like this, Sul," Amurah said, dropping her pack in the corner of the corridor. "Stuck here for two days, trusting that Khajiit with our lives? It makes me uneasy."

"We have no choice," I pointed out. "But he knows the Temple won't pay him anything for turning us in. Even if he is arrested after helping us, he'll be able to pay his fine and have more than half his money left over. We're as safe as we're likely to get."

"I hope you're right," she murmured, fingering the hilt of a dagger that was strapped to her thigh.

We stayed on the upper level of the tomb, unwilling to disturb the spirits at rest in the deeper levels. We waited, all that day, all night and the next day, sleeping in shifts when we could, though both of us were too much on edge to rest well. We didn't dare venture back into Khuul until it was necessary, so we ate sparingly from our supplies and remained in hiding. We waited, and waited, until I wanted to scream with frustration. We plotted out a path to the ship that would take us around the backs of the modest fishing huts, where we could hopefully avoid notice.

That night, we waited as long as we dared, finally leaving the tomb when the darkness was thick enough to make it almost impossible to see. With my hand resting on my mace and Amurah's hand on her own weapon, we strode side-by-side toward the lantern-lit town, where we could now see the sails of the _Omenwedur_ rising above the shacks. We skirted wide around the edge of town, and slipped through the shadows cast by the buildings. We clambered over rocks in silence; Amurah was a near-invisible presence at my side, cloaked in a chameleon spell, while the Ring of Khajiit on my finger kept me hidden. I wore my leather armor, as well, and the mask was a stifling layer of heat against my head.

We paused near the shore, crouching to eye the ship. It floated calmly, not far away, and I could see its captain moving about on its deck. There was no way we could cross the water and climb onto the ship, though, without making enough noise to disrupt our enchantments. _We'll have to go through the town after all, at least a corner of it, to get to the dock,_ I thought, and risked a cautious peek around a nearby shack. A cluster of Ordinators stood in a circle of lantern light at the center of town, listening intently to orders being given. I squinted, trying to estimate their numbers, and gave up counting at fifteen.

With a bit of effort, I found Amurah's hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, hard, and then rose smoothly from her crouch, with me close behind. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure that sound alone would give us away. Please, I prayed simply, over and over, to whichever god was listening. We have to get to that ship.

We didn't get far before a noise made me freeze in place. An Ordinator strode around the far corner of the nearest building, headed straight towards us, his mace gripped and ready, eyes alert and watchful behind his helm. He limped slightly, as if his knee pained him. I hadn't realized that there were patrols around the outside of town--

My heart sped up even faster, painfully, when he paused, staring right at Amurah. Chameleon spells work well for concealment, but they aren't as effective as invisibility, and even less so when their subject is mobile. Something had caught his eye, a stray shadow or a flicker of movement, and I held my breath, hoping he would dismiss it and move on.

He didn't. I saw the shift in his weight, the tensing of muscle that would bring his up his mace for a strike. He didn't finish the movement before Amurah slammed into him, driving him back against the wooden planks of the house with an arm across his throat. Her blade was pressed against his neck, that same weak point in the armor that she'd used against me months ago, faster than I could blink.

"No!" I hissed harshly, darting forward and fighting back a wave of dizziness as I let the effects of the Ring fade, bringing myself back to visibility. Amurah seemed to be little more than a shadow that fell across the Ordinator's armor, but I could see the furious glare she shot me.

" _Whatever is necessary_ , Sul," she reminded me through clenched teeth, her voice a barely audible snarl.

"Wait," I said, reaching forward to seize the Indoril mask and pull it free. Tarer Braryn glared at me with venomous eyes and no trace of fear as I exposed his face. "I don't want to kill anyone if we can avoid it."

Amurah didn't reply, only pressed the edge of her blade a bit harder, making him raise his chin slightly. Tarer's eyes flicked back and forth between us, finally settling on me. "That's a wise choice, Sul," he said, very softly. "You're not getting out of Khuul. Right now, you're wanted for crimes of heresy and assisted murder, but there are no Ordinators dead by your hands. The instant that changes... A slow and painful death will be a mercy compared to what the Inquisition will do to you."

"Then perhaps _I_ will do it," Amurah said in a harsh whisper, baring her teeth in a fierce approximation of a smile. "I've already slain several of your brothers. What's one more?"

Tarer's lip twisted in hatred at her words. "If you--"

"Stop," I snapped, and they fell silent. The leather helm was stifling me, and I reached up to pull it away. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, struggling to stay calm, though instincts were hammering at me to move fast, to get out of there at any cost.

"Please, Tarer," I said quietly, watching surprise flicker across his face. "I'm already lost to the Temple. I'm trying to leave this mess behind me. We want only to get to Solstheim. Call your men back, let us get to our ship. Please, just... let us go."

"Solstheim," he murmured. "We guessed as much, when the priest reported seeing you at the Chapel in Vos."

I rocked back a step in guilty shock. It was my fault. If I hadn't wandered into the branch of the Temple in that tiny farming village, if I hadn't spent hours there kneeling in my own self-pity, letting the priest get a good look at my features...

Tarer was still speaking. "... knew you'd be looking for a way off the island. We've kept watch at Ebonheart, too, to see if you'd try for Mournhold... but I'd guessed Solstheim would be your first choice. So much easier to reach from Vos. Why do you think the Temple sent a whole company of us here?"

Amurah swore under her breath, an ugly exhalation, and Tarer turned an amused look on her. "Yes. As I said... you won’t be leaving here easily.” He looked back at me. “But I’m under no illusions about the way you two will fight your way free. I don’t want to lose any more of my men to you. If you’ll turn yourselves in, Sul, I’ll see to it that the Inquisition keeps its hands off you. Perhaps I can persuade the Temple to disregard some of the crimes we’ve charged against you.”

I hesitated, thinking. He was right: it seemed that our chances were growing more and more slim. If an entire fifty-man company of the Order of War was in Khuul, odds were severely against us winning free. I looked at Amurah’s shadowy outline, thinking it might be worth it. If I could buy her freedom with my surrender, I would do it... and then I realized that Tarer hadn’t said anything about her.

“And Amurah?” I asked harshly. “Will you let her go?”

Tarer looked back at her, eyes narrowing in an expression of cool hatred. “This is the one who killed Nethalen at Ald Daedroth? And the others, in Maar Gan?”

Amurah’s head twitched, as if listening to a faint sound. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered urgently.

Tarer looked away, dismissing her. “There will be no mercy for the assassin,” he said flatly.

“Then we fight,” I snarled. “And I pray that you wake up in time to taste my steel yourself.” I struck him on the temple with the butt of my mace, and his eyes rolled up beneath his eyelids. Amurah silently eased his limp form to the ground.

I didn’t need to tell her that we had only moments before the approaching sentry found Tarer's unconscious body. We darted around the corner, and I let the spell of Mephala’s ring slide over me once more, praying it would last. We moved as quickly as we dared, slipping around the front of the shack and hurrying toward the docks.

We nearly made it. A short distance from the dock planks, I staggered as the enchantment on the ring suddenly ran out, stripping away the augmented speed it had granted me. A shout burst out behind us. I didn't stop to turn around, only shoved Amurah forward, hissing, "Run!" She did, and I pelted right behind her, our boots throwing up clumps of mud. We rounded a corner, and Amurah stopped so abruptly that I nearly crashed into her back.

The boat was there, just around the corner, our ticket to freedom. And in front of it, armor gleaming in the torchlight, Ordinators filled the dock from edge to edge.

_No_ , I thought desperately. One of them stepped forward, and with a numb sort of surprise, I recognized Elam Andas by the insignia on his armor. There was a note of satisfaction and finality in his voice. "Sul Daerys. Amurah Llenith. You are in violation of the law, and under arrest by order of the Tribunal Temple."


	18. Chapter 18

No one spoke, letting the echo of Andas' words fall heavily into the silence. Drizzling rain began to beat out a soft rhythm around us. Beside me, Amurah's form swirled into full view, and she settled herself at my side, showing no fear. Elam Andas took another step forward. "Surrender your weapons and yourselves, assassins, before we are forced to subdue you."

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know that the street behind us would be filled with more of them. Instead, I glanced at Amurah, and she met my gaze squarely, a fierce light in her eyes. "The first chance you get," I murmured, ignoring Andas, "Run. Get out."

"Not without you," she replied.

I grimaced, but there wasn't time for anything more. Andas shouted a command, and the Ordinators began to close on us. Amurah's Daedric blade rang free of its sheath, and she whirled to press her shoulder blades against my back. I had time to feel the familiar battle-joy sweep over me, and then the first of them came within reach.

I dropped into a low crouch and feinted towards his knees, then rose and drove the head of my mace under his chin when he flinched. He fell back against another, who shoved his lifeless body aside, charging towards me. There was no time to feel sick with regret at the first of my brothers I had killed, even if Mephala's bloodlust had let me. The second one's mace swung toward my face; I ducked aside and landed a solid blow against his ribs. He staggered but didn't fall, Indoril armor absorbing most of the blow's force. I caught his returning strike on the haft of my mace, shoving him back, and then swung as hard as I could. Iron rang against his helm, hard enough that his head jerked aside, scattering a spray of rainwater, and he dropped like a stone. I let the swing's momentum carry my weapon around and reversed it, bringing it up for a downward strike. It took the third Ordinator between shoulder and throat, shattering his collarbone with an audible _crack_ , and he fell to his knees with a cry, dropping his own mace.

After that, there were more of them, two and three at a time, however many could reach me without impeding each other. I stayed adhered to Amurah's back and lost track of time, of how many bodies I left on the ground. The battle devolved into shouts, jarring impacts and a desperate, fierce hunger for violence. I caught sight of occasional blood-red flashes from Amurah's sword in the corners of my vision, heard her snarl wordless challenges.

At some point, I realized the futility of it all; it cut briefly through my raging violence like a sudden beam of light. There were too many of them, and though we were holding our own, they would wear us down eventually. We had strength borne of desperation, but they had the numbers to throw at us until we exhausted ourselves. There was no chance of taking the ship now, of course; there was no way the Khajiit could get the vessel out to sea before it was overrun with pursuing Ordinators. But if we could make it to the water, perhaps we could swim far enough into the night to lose any pursuit. We needed only an opening, a weak point in the thick press of Ordinators who surrounded us.

Dodging the end of a mace's grip that stabbed toward my face, I drew my knife with my free hand and plunged it in and out of the wielder's neck, dropping him in a spurt of blood. I shoved him toward the next oncoming foe, buying myself a precious second to glance about, searching for a weak place to break free of the circle formed by our attackers.

There wasn't one. I would have to make one myself. I had a half-instant to orient myself on the nearest path to the shore, before my world again narrowed into a blur of golden armor and bloodshed.

My arms were beginning to tire, however. My shoulder ached from one Ordinator who'd gotten in a lucky blow with his mace, and blood was trickling down my leg from a thigh wound I hadn't realized I'd gotten. It was now beginning to pulse painfully with every movement. Every second longer that we fought would lessen our already-slender chances of escape. Dimly feeling my face twist into a desperate snarl, I pressed forward and did my best to ignore the pain.

 _Yes,_ came a sudden, unbidden voice in my head. Distracted as I was, I only half-recognized it as Mephala's. It was muted and faint, compared to the first time she'd spoken to me, but still throbbing with power and immortal elation. _This is how it should be: The blood of the hunter and the blood of the hunted, spilt and soaking into the ground, as it has been since the world was young... The struggle for victory, on the blade-edge of life and death--_

The thought sent a surge of renewed strength through me, even as I tried to shove it away. My body moved almost instinctively, flowing from one opponent to the next with the sort of deadly grace I'd always admired in Amurah, and never hoped to attain for myself. I forced my way toward the shoreline, dimly aware that Amurah followed me with a careful, backwards tread.

No one can ever accuse the Ordinators of the Temple, no matter their Order, of cowardice. We-- they-- face down foes that make the commoners quake in their boots, and we have the skills and the training to win, most of the time. But whatever they saw in my expression as I pushed through their number, it was enough to make a few of them recoil in startlement, if not outright fear. It afforded me a bit of an edge, and I took advantage of their hesitation, smashing them aside with a wordless howl, every muscle and thought in my body focused on reaching the water's edge.

I was close, tantalizingly close, when the few Ordinators who still stood between us and freedom suddenly fell back. Elam Andas stepped into the open space between them, his Temple mace in one hand and an Indoril shield on the other.

He looked as if he wanted to speak, but I didn't give him the opportunity. I lunged forward with a shout, and he caught my weapon on his shield, turning the blow aside. I aimed a savage kick at his knee, driving him back a step. I followed him closely, knowing that he would kill me without hesitation if I was foolish enough to give him an opening. I brought my mace in close, letting it slide through my grip until the head was just above my fist. His own mace came flashing down at me, and I darted to the side, aiming an awkward, backhand strike at the inside of his shield arm. It surprised him, and he lost his grip on the shield, letting it drop from nerveless fingers into the mud. I drove the iron weapon towards his face, but he jerked back and knocked it aside. His gauntleted fist slammed into my nose with the weight of his mace behind it, and I staggered back, lights flaring painfully behind my eyes. I realized dully that I had dropped my knife.

Through the pain, I saw him take a step forward, and I shook my head to clear it, knowing my nose was probably broken. Clumsily, I managed to duck away from two slashing swings of his mace, and recovered enough to catch the third against my own weapon. The impact sent a tremor down my tiring arms, but I managed to hold, both of us straining against the other.

We were fairly evenly matched, or should have been... But he was fresh to the fight, while my strength was beginning to ebb. He began to overpower me, pushing me back little by little.

Without warning, I dropped into a sudden crouch, throwing my mace up in a horizontal grip. Suddenly meeting no resistance, Andas fell forward before he could stop himself. I caught his midriff across the haft of my weapon and rocked back, sending him over my head in a rolling dive. It left me sprawled on my back in the mud, and Andas took the roll easily, immediately bounding to his feet.

I scrambled up and tackled him around the knees before he could turn around to face me. We hit the ground hard, and I felt the breath leave his lungs in a harsh cough. I clambered up his body to pin him down with a knee against his spine. We both saw the glint of my knife in the mud at the same time, both scrabbled for it. Andas caught it first, but let it go when my mace smashed his hand into the mud. He let out an enraged, pained shout, and I snatched up the knife, shoving the point under his helm, just at the hinge of his jaw.

" _Sul!_ "

I snapped my head around at Amurah's cry of warning, and saw that the entire battle had stopped, everyone seemingly frozen in place. Four or five Ordinators stood nearby, bearing crossbows with bolts at the ready, aimed at me. Across the scattering of corpses we had left on the ground, on the other side of the street, Amurah was on her knees in the mud. Her sword was gone, and so were the other blades she wore openly. Both of her arms were twisted painfully behind her back by the two Ordinators standing over her. Blood trickled from a cut in her forehead, dripping steadily from her chin, but she seemed otherwise unhurt. A few other crossbowmen had their weapons trained on her, and the rest of the company left alive-- a bit less than half their number, I realized numbly-- lined the edges of the street, a corridor of men with a readiness for violence written in every line of their bodies. They waited for one of us to move, to give them the excuse they needed. Amurah stared at me across the scattered carnage, her eyes wide with the first fear I'd ever seen in them... fear for me.

Tarer Braryn stepped around one of the bowmen, moving carefully, as if he hadn't quite recovered from the blow to the head I'd given him earlier. "It's over, Sul," he said, just loud enough to be heard over the rainfall. "Let Elam go, and surrender, or we'll kill her right now."

Blood pounded in my ears as I thought frantically, trying to form a plan and failing. I had seen Amurah force her way free of so many fights that it was a surprise, a nasty one, to realize that she had been well and truly beaten. We both had. She had no way out of this.

Except one.

She met my eyes again, and clenched her jaw tightly, with a quick shake of her head. _I'm sorry_ , I thought, wishing she could hear me. My broken nose was throbbing, quick flashes of pain timed with my pounding heart. I eased the knife away from Elam Andas' throat and dropped it, then slowly placed my mace beside it and stood up empty-handed.

They moved quickly, rushing forward to seize me. I offered no resistance, unable to draw my eyes away from Amurah.

Because I was watching her, I was able to see it when she moved with unnatural speed, twisting down and to the side. Her left shoulder dislocated with a hideous sound, startling the two Ordinators enough that they let her go. I saw her face contort in pain, but it didn't slow her as she produced a blade from the side of her right boot and burst to her feet. She planted the weapon hilt-deep under the chin of the man on her right, ripped it free in a spray of blood and turned to the other. I drew in a sharp breath, daring to hope that she might win free--

The nearest bowman calmly sighted down his weapon and shot her in the abdomen.

" _No!_ "  The cry ripped from my throat as she stumbled, blood seeping from under her leather cuirass. At such close range, the armor was useless against a crossbow. She managed to stab the knife at the second Ordinator, who was still recovering from his surprise. What should have been a clean thrust into the shoulder joint of his armor was thrown off when the second crossbow bolt slammed into her, and her weapon glanced harmlessly off his cuirass. She dropped it, pressing her good arm against her stomach, and collapsed to her knees.

Someone was spitting curses, violent and furious, and I realized later that it must have been me. With a burst of frantic strength, I wrenched my arms free, striking at whoever dared come between me and her, desperate to reach her. I landed a few lucky blows, leaving knuckle-shaped dents in one helm, but there were too many, and I was unarmed. They forced me down, though it took at least six of them, and wrested my hands behind my back. They bound my ankles as well, and checked thoroughly for hidden weapons, while I raged and snarled.

When they were satisfied, they hauled me up on my knees, until Elam Andas approached in his muddied armor and dealt me a blow to the head hard enough to knock me sideways. I fell silent, staring across the road at Amurah. She lay on her side, eyes closed, her dislocated arm draped unnaturally across her body. Blood still seeped with a slow, weakening rhythm from the rents in her armor.

Elam Andas stood staring down at me for a long moment. I refused to look at him. I heard him give orders to begin caring for the wounded, and someone approached to give him a report on casualties. If I had been capable of feeling any emotions but blind rage, the number would have surprised me.

Andas ordered someone to prepare for a return to Vivec, then crouched before me, blocking my view of Amurah. "Twenty-seven dead, out of a company of fifty, Sul," he mused in a hard voice. "And half that many wounded. Twenty-seven of my men, dead at your hands." He paused, while I bared my teeth at him in a feral grimace. "The Inquisition will be very eager to get their grip on you."

I spat at him. It landed on his boot, and he chuckled, then rose to his feet. _Amurah_ , I had time to think, anguished, before he kicked me in the face, and I fell into painful, throbbing darkness.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

They kept me drugged, I think, on the voyage back to Vivec. The wound on my leg began to fester, pitching me into fevered dreams and waking hallucinations. I remember only snatches: the hold of the ship, the chains that bound me. Pain, pounding stakes deep inside my skull with every heartbeat. One fishing village and port town after another-- for weeks, it seemed, though it couldn't have been more than a few days-- until the familiar outlines of the City rose to dizzy heights overhead, blurring in my feverish vision. They had to carry me into the Temple on a litter, for between the drugs and the fever and my injuries, I wasn't fit to walk.

The Temple healers began their work immediately, but my fever grew worse before it began to abate. I still am not sure how many days I lay insensible, while my body burned with sickness and pain and white-hot fury. When I finally did awaken fully, I was lying on my back in a small room of the Hall of Wisdom, blinking up at the ceiling.

Someone spoke, and the sudden sound made me lurch up to a sitting position. That was a mistake; darkness swirled around my vision, and I eased back down, struggling just to stay conscious. My wrists were chained, still, bound to the sides of the bed. The edges of the cuffs dug into dull spots of pain on my wrists: I had bruised myself against the bonds in my delirium, it seemed. I felt incredibly weak.

The voice was still speaking, and it took an effort for me to recognize the words as being a language I knew. "....finally. The healers were beginning to worry you'd gone too far even for their skills."

I turned my head, slowly, to see Elam Andas standing nearby, just far enough to be out of reach of my chained arms. He stared down at me with an almost dispassionate expression, only a tiny sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The whole island is full of rumors about you, Sul. About the man who betrayed the Temple and became an _assassin_." He didn't bother to hide his contempt for the word. "But some are saying that you were in the grip of madness, a blight that clouded your judgment. It forced you to turn on your own brothers against your will. Grandmaster Sala is one of those; he's willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, spare you the worst of the Inquisitors' attentions, if you'll go along with the healer's questions and let them prove it."

I tried to speak, but no sound came out; my mouth was too dry, my throat too damaged by whatever fevered screaming I'd done while sick.

Andas continued, "You'll never be returned to active duty, of course... They'll probably put you to work in the Library, have you move into the healers' quarters so they can keep track of you. But it'll spare the Temple the embarrassment of explaining _why_ you felt the need to betray us, and murder more than a score of our number." He folded his hands behind his back, jaw set in a grim line. He wasn't happy about the offer, but he had his orders.

I licked my lips and tried once more. My voice came out in a harsh croak. "Where is Amurah?"

Andas' eyes narrowed. "This offer will only be made once, Sul," he said. "I advise you to choose your next words carefully."

 _Amurah._ I closed my eyes, my last sight of her seared against my eyelids. She had lain out of my reach, dying on the road through Khuul. Ordinators had begun to help their brethren, healing the wounded who still survived, and none of them had moved to help her. She had lain there, bleeding into the mud, dying alone.

She had died fighting, still hoping to get us free, somehow. I would not betray her memory by _giving_ the Temple what they wanted.

I opened my eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "I have no words to say to you," I rasped, not looking at him.

Andas let out a satisfied half-laugh. "Good," he murmured. He strode away; I heard him speaking in a low voice to someone else in the room. _I am sorry, Amurah_ , I thought numbly. _It shouldn't have ended this way._

They moved me the next day, when I'd regained enough strength to stand unassisted. They'd had enough of carrying my prone form, I supposed. I was bound with more chains; they locked my wrists behind me, hobbled my ankles with just enough slack to allow me a shuffling sort of gait. There was no need for them, truly; I was still weak enough to pose no threat at all.

They led me out of the Hall of Wisdom, with an escort of six, maybe more. The morning sunshine was blazingly bright, and I stumbled, blinded, while they pulled me across the Temple Canton. A crowd had gathered: pilgrims come to see the fate of the Ordinator who had broken his vows. I would like to say that I kept my head held high, but between my weakness and the blinding light, I don't believe that I did. The crowd was silent as I passed, beginning to whisper after I'd gone. We stopped near the edge of the canton, and the two Ordinators on either side of me muttered an invocation. With the light of a spell glimmering about their boots, they seized my arms and began to ascend to the Ministry of Truth.

Long ago, when Lord Vivec halted the fall of the tiny moon and saved his City, he left it to hang above the Temple, a reminder of his power that was visible for miles. The Temple has long used it as a prison for heretics, as well as the headquarters for the Order of Inquisition. I had never been there, had never thought of it as anything but a symbol of the Warrior-Poet's glory, a necessary part of the Temple, and a useful threat to those members of society who refused to abide by the laws.

It was different now that I was a criminal, approaching the prison and knowing that I would likely not come out again. I squinted up at the Ministry as it loomed ever closer, and suddenly understood why the populace feared it. It was easy for imagination to conjure thoughts of hideous tortures carried out within the prison... We were ascending in its shadow, and a chill ghosted over my skin as we settled onto its suspended platform. While my guards greeted the sentry at the door and produced a key for the heavy lock, I gazed around, taking in a last glimpse of sun and sea. Absently, I wondered if one of the guards might let my arm go briefly; it would be enough for me to wrench free of the other and throw myself over the railing. The fall would kill me, if I landed on the Temple canton; or I would drown, unable to swim in my chains, if I landed in the water.

I wasn't given the opportunity, however. Both guards kept a firm grip on me; likely they had dealt with suicidal prisoners before. The door swung open into the darkness of an unlit cave, and I was ushered inside. The heavy door slammed shut behind me with a resounding _boom_.

I do not like to remember the weeks that followed. I count it as a blessing that the worst of the memories are buried deeply enough to only surface in occasional nightmares. I have difficulty enough with the milder memories during my waking hours.

What I had known of the Order of the Inquisition had been by reputation only; I had never met any of their number. They were a secretive group, preferring to remain in the Ministry most of the time; that was where they received most of their training, and their services were seldom needed anywhere else on the island. I became well acquainted with several of them, and I will say this: that while they all served the same ends, their reasons varied. It reminded me of a conversation I'd had with Amurah, in which we'd discussed that some people were born with the desire for violence and danger. It was the same with the Inquisitors: some went about their work with a grim determination, certain that they did the Tribunal's will. Others took a sadistic joy in it, rather like the battle-euphoria that I had come to know so well.

I never decided which was easier to bear, but the Grand Inquisitor himself was the worst.

I had betrayed the Temple, murdered innocents, and killed my own brothers in battle. For the first two weeks or so, they did nothing but take turns at me. All of them, from the newest acolyte to the most seasoned Inquisitor, wanted a chance to make me pay for my sins, and the Grand Inquisitor granted it to them. One and two at a time, they plied their skills on me, while the days blurred into a haze of red agony and raw screams. The Grand Inquisitor-- I never learned his name-- never touched me, but he oversaw everything, standing in a shadowed corner of my cell with his arms folded, watching with a dark promise in his eyes. He never spoke, not even to chastise the younger ones when they went too far and forced me into unconsciousness from the pain, and for that reason alone I hated him. They never asked questions, never tried to wring a confession from me; it was only pain for the sake of pain.

One day-- or night, perhaps-- I awoke, alone in my cell for the first time I could remember. I was _not_ bound to the whipping cross in the corner, or suspended from the chain in the ceiling at a shoulder-wrenching angle, but sprawled on the simple bedroll in the corner.

Pain was an old acquaintance come to visit as I struggled to sit up. Once upright, I braced my hands on the blankets and drew in a ragged breath, too shocked by the absence of torture to think coherently. I stared down at myself. Bruises and fresh scabs covered my lower legs and arms, were visible through the rents in my tattered clothing. Every joint in my body ached with the dull hurt of twisting, unnatural use, especially my shoulders. A few of my fingernails were completely missing, leaving only raw, dark patches on the ends of my fingers. When I managed to glance over my shoulder, I could see splotches of dried blood on the bedroll.

I felt at my face; both eyes were swollen, but not much, as if they were healing. I found lines of dried blood trailing from my ears, my lip. A few of my teeth felt loose. My nose had been healed by the Temple during my fever, but not set correctly, and it had been broken again, sometime recently. Now it, too, was swollen, and I knew it would heal crooked this time.

If I was given the chance to heal.

Unable to stifle a groan, I managed to rise shakily to my feet. There was a pitcher of water and a mug set off to the side, and it took me an eternity to reach it. The water was warm and stale, and delicious. I downed one mug fast enough to sicken me if I wasn't careful, emptied a second one over my head, and rubbed gingerly at the dried blood that crusted my face.

As I sipped at a third mugful, more slowly this time, the door opened and Elam Andas stepped into my cell. Since I had no strength and nowhere to go even if I had, I stayed standing and eyed him over the brim of my mug. "I didn't know you had joined the Inquisition," I said quietly, my voice hoarse.

"I haven't," he said, walking closer. "I've been appointed to oversee your interrogation. There are quite a few unanswered questions regarding your defection." He stopped within arm's-length of me, and paused.

Behind Andas, the Grand Inquisitor stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. I flicked my eyes to him, feeling a little shiver of dread run down my spine.

Elam Andas followed my gaze to the Inquisitor, then turned back to me with a smile. He reached up and took the mug from my unresisting fingers. "Shall we begin?"

As I said, it is a blessing that I managed to block away the worst of my memories. I only recall a few separate, distinct bits of the interrogation. They clasped the manacles on my wrists to the chain that hung from the ceiling, and I let them. I had long ago lost the will and the ability to resist. The Grand Inquisitor's face was an impassive mask, and I knew he would show me no mercy... but it seemed that nothing mattered enough for me to fight any more. _Amurah is dead._

Elam Andas asked me questions, while I dangled in my chains and the Grand Inquisitor worked on me with a cool, brutal and silent efficiency. I answered willingly, for the most part, having no reason to keep silent, but it didn't save me from the Inquisitor's long experience at inflicting pain. I confessed to joining the Morag Tong, to carrying out the Writs in secret. I admitted to breaking my Temple vows with Amurah, to knowing that she'd infiltrated the Order in disguise. I told him what had happened when we fled Maar Gan, and admitted to the slaughter of half a company of Ordinators in Khuul. The entire tale, from that fourth man I ever killed, saving Amurah's life... The whole thing spilled from my lips in a dispassionate voice, broken only by gasps of pain. It took a long, agonizing time.

The only thing I did not tell him was what we'd planned to do in Solstheim. That was my dream, _ours_ , that Amurah had given to me. It was the only thing I had left of her, and I would not let the Temple take it from me, though my reticence spurred the Inquisitor to new tortures while Andas smiled.

At one point, he held up a hand, and the Inquisitor paused with his metal-tipped lash in the air, while dozens of bleeding welts blazed fire across my skin. "You truly believe you were doing Vivec's will, this entire time? That he had some... plan, some task for you to carry out?" He asked.

I drew in a gasping breath. "Yes."

Andas huffed out an incredulous laugh. "And now? Now that his Temple is cleansing you of your sins, what do you believe?"

I licked my dry lips with an even dryer tongue and rasped, "That Mephala used me for some dark game, a thread in some spider web of a plot that she dropped as soon as I was no longer useful." I hadn't realized it until I spoke it aloud. Why else would the Spider have strung me along, inexorably twisting me up in her schemes with Amurah, only to come to this end? It had been the Daedra's ring that had failed me, leading to our capture... after all that I had done to serve her ends, thinking that all along that it was the Three's wishes I followed. What had I accomplished, exactly? _Get Amurah killed and damn myself to the hell that fills this tiny cave_. What good was that to the Tribunal?

 _Nothing,_ I answered myself, with a flare of anger. _It was Mephala all along, and I let myself be tempted. She dropped me as soon as I was foolish enough to walk into that chapel in Vos, because she knew I'd never fully turn to her. And the Tribunal Temple snatched me back at the first opportunity._

"Hmmm." Andas regarded me for a long moment. Then a slow smile spread across his face, and I knew what the next question would be. "What were you and Amurah Llenith going to do in Solstheim, Sul?"

I met his gaze squarely. "Oblivion take you."

The back of his fist struck my cheek so hard that I was swamped into a blaze of white-hot pain for a moment or two. I blinked away the lights swirling behind my eyes to see the Grand Inquisitor lay his hand on Andas' arm. "You are not of the Inquisition, Curate," he said, the first time I'd heard him speak. "The Order does not permit it."

Elam Andas took a step back, nodding. "I overstepped, Inquisitor," he said. "It's been many hours, and I tire of this. Take him down."

They left me where I fell when the chains were released, and took the lantern with them, leaving me in darkness. Unable to move, I lay as I was, mouthing silent, furious curses at Mephala until sleep claimed me.

They came back the next day, I believe. Perhaps the next hour; I had no way of knowing. I was strung up in my chains again, blinking in the lanternlight, and Andas smiled at me. "Now," he said softly. "Tell me again."

I didn't bother to count how many times he and the Inquisitor came to torture me. When I saw that once was not enough, I knew it would go on for a long, long time. I never told him any more or less than I already had, and still they came, with knives and whips and brands, or implements for which I had no names.

My memories are completely missing from the point when the Inquisitor began to take my fingers, one joint at a time. I still bear scars from injuries and burns that I cannot remember receiving. Admittedly, I do not try very hard to remember. It nearly drove me mad to go through it the first time; it is not a thing I care to relive.

I think they had stopped for several days before I realized it, too lost in the agony even to notice its absence... Even when they weren't there with me, there was always enough damage done for the pain to last until the next session. I remember, dimly, realizing that the hurt had lessened, and I hadn't seen Elam Andas or the Grand Inquisitor for some time.

For a little longer, an unknown time, I saw no one except the Inquisition acolyte who brought my meals. I was left alone in blessed silence, and there was a light in my cell. It seemed strange, after the long stretches of darkness, after all the time I'd spent listening to my own screams. Slowly, movement began to return to my broken body. Once, when the acolyte brought my food, she mentioned idly that the hearing was to be in a week's time.

I squinted at her, unsure if I'd heard correctly. "What hearing?"

She shrugged. "For your crimes. A formality, really; your confession has already been recorded." She headed for the door and cast an unreadable look over her shoulder. "They'll send you some fresh clothes and bathwater in a few days. Can't have you go to a public judgment looking like that."

She left, and I looked down at myself, realizing for the first time what a mess I was. I had long ago ceased to care. But she was right; I certainly was in no condition to attend any public functions. The rags I wore, what was left of the clothes I'd been given on my arrival, were crusted with old blood. Lacerations of varying lengths and severities crisscrossed my skin, some older and more healed than others, some never given the chance to mend. Finger-length burns from the end of a hot poker were scattered seemingly at random, shiny and grey with pale new skin, except for the one in the bend of my elbow that refused to heal. All the fingers of my left hand, and two of my right, ended in scarred, bloody stumps, a joint or two shorter than they should have been.

 _How far I've fallen,_ I thought, dully. My faith in the Tribunal had become corrupted by Mephala, and I had allowed it. I had let the Spider Daedra prey on me, and my desire to do the will of Vivec, the very thing that should have protected me, had been my weakness. The Writs I'd carried out, all the secrecy I'd worked so hard for... It had all been pointless. Guilt beat at me as I thought of all my brothers in the Order that I'd killed, for nothing. The running, the nights I'd spent in Amurah's arms...

 _No_ , I thought, blinking against a sudden sting of tears. _She died for me. I cannot believe that our time together was all for naught._

For the first time in months, I tried to sense if Mephala's dark shadow still clung to me. When I'd still been on the Watch, just after meeting Amurah, the Daedra's touch had been almost a physical sensation, like an invisible film that covered me. As I'd been woven deeper and deeper into her web, the feeling had faded, or I had grown too accustomed to it to notice, until I'd forgotten all about it. With a bit of effort, I could still detect it, as if a faint shadow lay nearly intangibly upon my soul. My lip twisted in a silent snarl. _You will not lay claim over me any longer, Webspinner,_ I thought.

Clamping my jaws shut on a groan, I rose stiffly from my bedroll and shuffled about on my knees. I could have folded the blankets into an improvised cushion, but the discomfort of the stone under my knees was so minor compared to what I'd already faced, I didn't bother. I bowed my head, and the meditative prayer-trance slipped over me with the same ease it always had.

I prayed, silently, for a long, long time. I begged the Three for their forgiveness, one by one, and prayed that they would remove the taint of Mephala's influence from my soul, now that I had renounced her. I hoped for a sense of the Almsivi's presence, like the one I'd been granted in Vos; I hoped that they would cleanse me of the tattered strands of Mephala's web. Instead, I felt only the barest echo of that first presence: as if I was reminded, absently, that I had a task to complete.

And when I emerged from my meditation, the Daedra's claim on me still lay beneath my skin.

 _So be it,_ I thought. _If my task is to spend the rest of my days here with the reminder of my folly still darkening my soul, it is a fitting punishment for my crimes._

I rose slowly to my feet and stood, staring around my cell. An image of Amurah appeared in my mind, the way she'd been in Ald Sotha, helping me with my first mission outside of Vivec: impudent, fierce, almost cheerfully defiant. The thought made me smile faintly.

Gritting my teeth, I began a hobbling circuit of my cell, willing my legs to remember how to work properly. My fate was already determined, a life condemned to the solitary darkness of my cell in the Ministry of Truth, and there was no fight left in me to struggle against it... But I would go to my hearing on my own two feet, and I would meet my fate as Amurah would have, with my head held high.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

It was a cool, gray morning in the City of Vivec when they led me, weak but walking on my own, out of the Ministry of Truth. The sky was overcast, but it was bright enough to make me squint. I stood there in my chains on the scaffold that edged the Ministry, blinking against the light while the Ordinators locked the door behind us. The fresh sea air was the first breath of _life_ I had felt in a long, long time. My own world had shrunken down to the dark, bloody, painful little cave of my cell, and I nearly gasped at the intense reminder that the rest of the world still existed.

My guards didn’t wait for me to become acclimated to the outdoors. A few murmured invocations, and they rose a little off the ground as the levitation spells took hold. Lifting me by my arms, they escorted me down to the waiting Temple below.

A crowd had gathered, just as it had when I’d been taken up to the floating prison. It was bigger this time, though; it seemed as though the entire city had come out to catch a glimpse of the man who had betrayed the Temple. Where before they had been silent, now they were a boisterous, unruly crowd. Shouts, jeers, taunts and cheers merged into an unintelligible noise while we landed in a little space that had been cleared by other Ordinators. They shoved the crowd back, opening a path to the High Fane. My guards, four of them, fell into formation around me and escorted me wordlessly to the entrance. I held my head high, and looked neither right nor left, not even when one daring citizen darted close enough to spit on my cheek.

The door slammed shut behind us, abruptly cutting off the noise of the crowd. The small shrine we had entered smelled of incense and burnt offerings, bringing another rush of memory that startled me in its suddenness.

They led me through the shrine and up a few stairs into the main chamber of the Temple, where the altars to the saints stood under the vast, arching ceiling. The Master of the Temple, Endryn Llethan, met us in the center of the room. “Sul Daerys,” he said formally. “In the time before your hearing, we offer you a chance to pray and beg the Tribunal for whatever absolution they may grant you.”

I didn’t look around at the Temple. “I have already made my peace with the Three,” I said evenly.

The priest frowned. “Very well,” he said, stepping aside, and we descended another short staircase into the room set aside for the hearing. I was ushered into a side chamber, shoved roughly into a chair, and left with two of my guards. On the other side of the door, I could hear indistinct voices, members of the Temple bustling about, making preparations.

I stared down at my hands, not quite recognizing them in their shackles. The left, the maimed one, looked the strangest. Sometimes I forgot that I was missing bits of my fingers, and I still wasn't accustomed to the sight of it. Two of the knuckles on my right hand had been broken, and were still healing. The fingernails were growing out nearly black, bruised deep beneath the surface by repeated trauma. I clenched them into fists, taking a strange sort of comfort in the familiarity of the pain, and hoped that the hearing would not take too long. I wanted to see the ocean again, even if it meant I was being taken back to my cell for the last time.

I didn't have long to wait. Several minutes later, the door opened, and my guards escorted me back to the outer room. It was full of people now; even the vast chamber of the Temple proper was crowded with onlookers, but silent. My chains clinked softly between my shuffling steps, and it was the only sound in the room.

A table had been set up at one end of the chamber, and a man I had never met sat in the middle of the three chairs there. I recognized him from his clothing, though, and the ornate sash of office that wrapped over his robes: Tholer Saryoni, the Archcanon of the Temple. At his right sat Grandmaster Berel Sala, head of the Ordinators.

On Saryoni's left side sat the Grand Inquisitor. His cool gaze flicked over me impassively, and I stumbled as a spasm of remembered torment struck me, phantom pain exploding in my missing fingers.

My escort pulled me past the table, halting at its far end, and turned me to face the crowd. I stared at the lintel above the doorway, over the top of the crowd, as Saryoni stood and read from an unrolled parchment. "This man, Sul Daerys, formerly an Adept of the Temple and a member of the Order of War, stands accused of crimes against the Temple and the people of Morrowind. Today, we shall hear testimony to determine his guilt or responsibility in the following matters..." He listed the various Writs I'd carried out, and went on to outline everything else I had done, while the crowd listened. At the end, he listed the names of all the Ordinators that Amurah and I had killed or wounded in Khuul.

It was a long list, thirty-nine names in all, and hard to take. I listened, clenching my jaw as each name seemed to pile the guilt heavier upon my shoulders. When Saryoni finished, I felt as if I were being crushed beneath the weight of them all.

The room was silent for a moment when he set down the parchment, until some of the people back in the Temple itself, out of sight, began to murmur. Saryoni offered a brief prayer to the Three, asking for their blessings on the proceedings, and then I was pulled back into the corner next to the table while witnesses came forward to speak against me.

I listened with only half an ear, knowing that the entire affair was for show, a way to impress upon the people that the Temple would not handle such treachery lightly. I would be told when I needed to speak, and it didn't appear to be soon. They had the records of my confession, and Elam Andas referred to them many times, letting the Grand Inquisitor confirm his notes in a cold, quiet voice. My eyes roved across the faces in the crowd, most of whom were staring at me with varying degrees of hatred, awe, and disbelief.

A pair of stone-hard eyes met mine from the shadows in a corner, where the press of the crowd gave one man a wide berth. I stiffened in shock, my manacles chiming softly with the movement. Eno Hlaalu stared back at me from the rear of the crowded room. Fury, abrupt and blazing, was a sudden fire behind my vision. _He_ dares _to show himself here, to watch me be sentenced for crimes I committed at_ his _orders?_ Everything that had happened-- the executions I'd been forced to carry out, my brothers I'd killed, Amurah's death-- it had all been due to his insistence that I join the Morag Tong. His, and Mephala's priest, whose name I had never learned, who I belatedly realized was standing beside Hlaalu in his scarlet robes.

Half-blinded by rage, I took an involuntary step forward before a guard seized my arm and jerked me back with a clatter of chains. Elam Andas paused in his testimony, glancing at me. I wavered on my feet, turning the movement into an attempt to keep my balance. When the Ordinator at my side relaxed his grip, I settled back on my heels and glared at the Morag Tong Grandmaster. His gaze was fixed on the head table, now, and he gave no indication he'd seen my reaction. The priest, though, was watching me with eyes narrowed in concentration. I glared daggers at the both of them, hoping they could feel my fury and know that I would kill them both in a heartbeat if I was given the chance.

The hearing wore on, and on, and on, and I began to feel dizzy. My few days of walking the perimeter of my cell hadn't prepared me for standing unaided this long. My mind began to wander, in brief spurts, until I wrenched my attention back to the two Dunmer in the back of the room. _You do not belong here in the Temple,_ I thought at them. _Whatever you are doing here, your lives will be forfeit once the Ordinators learn who you are._

I was proven wrong, however, when Andas called out the Grandmaster's name a few minutes later. Eno Hlaalu made his way unhurriedly through the crowd, stopping before the head table, his hands folded decorously into his sleeves. A stronger wave of dizziness made the room swirl in my vision, and I wavered on my feet. I could hear, in my head, that muted voice I recognized as Mephala's. She was laughing, an inhuman sound that made my skin crawl under her invisible mark. Gritting my teeth, I snarled silently at the Daedra, willing her voice out of my mind.

"...Grandmaster of the Morag Tong," finished Andas, and Hlaalu bowed slightly to the Archcanon as his introduction was made. Andas added, "Ser, did you take an oath of service to your Guild, from a man who claimed to be an Ordinator?"

"Yes."

Archcanon Saryoni leaned forward, frowning. "It didn't occur to you how... _wrong_ that was? How well can a man serve your interests under conflicting vows?"

"He served well enough," Hlaalu said calmly. My fists clenched, shooting spikes of agony through my wrists, as he continued, "His vows to the Temple did not present a problem to Mephala. Rather, his commitment to _you_ did not accept the addition of the Spider's service."

Saryoni scowled and sat back in his chair, waving a hand for Andas to continue. Elam, in turn, gestured towards me. "Is this the man whose vow you accepted?"

Hlaalu turned his implacable gaze on me. "Yes," he said simply. The room tilted around me as Mephala returned in my mind, suddenly as loud as she'd been in her shrine. I couldn't tell if she was laughing, or shouting unintelligibly, or both; the inner noise drowned out what was happening in front of me, and I couldn't hear anything while the Archcanon dismissed Hlaalu. I saw him bow, then straighten slowly, unfolding his hands. From my place to the side of the table, I could see the knife hidden against the inside of his wrist, glinting with poison, could see his other hand begin to glow with magicka for his escape.

It gave me a heartbeat's notice, a fraction more than anyone else in the room, even Berel Sala, who sat at the Archcanon's side. As Hlaalu darted toward the table, the knife gliding out at Saryoni's throat, I lunged forward. It was clumsy, hampered by the chains around my ankles, but it was fast enough to get me out of the Ordinators' reach.

The heartbeat's notice wasn't quite enough. Eno Hlaalu had spent a lifetime training for such swift, deadly assassinations as this. Even if I'd not been weakened by the long weeks of interrogation, I do not know if I could have made it in time. Hlaalu's knife slashed in and out, almost too quickly to see, before I reached him. The Archcanon fell back in his chair, clutching at his neck, and the light in Hlaalu's hand brightened, a Recall spell ready to whirl him away to Vivec-knows-where.

Away from justice.

The chain between my wrists was shorter than my forearm, but it was long enough to allow me to grasp his chin in one hand and his hair in the other. Mephala gibbered in my head, and lent me a taste of that fierce strength I'd used in the battle at Khuul, sending a surge of power into my mangled hands.

I broke Eno Hlaalu's neck in a single, savage twist. He, and the spell he'd been casting, died before we both crashed to the floor. Mephala's voice was suddenly gone from my head, and her gift of strength vanished with it.

Chaos exploded in the Temple. Frantic shouting arose from the head table, where Tholer Saryoni had been wounded. Ordinators burst forth from the edges of the room, hauling me away from the table. Panicked citizens in the Temple proper, uncertain what was happening, began to scream and rush for the doors in a frenzy. Someone was calling for a healer, and at least six different voices were shouting orders.

Dazed and dizzy, I lay on the ground where the guards had dropped me. The face of Mephala's priest suddenly appeared overhead, and I tensed, knowing I was worse than helpless without the unnatural power of the Spider to strengthen me.

But the priest only smiled, crouching beside me. "Well done," he said, barely audible over the noise. I stared up at him, thoroughly confused.

"What are you--"

Without warning, he was gone, and an Ordinator heaved me upright.

The room was empty of all but Temple members, now, clustered in a knot around the fallen Archcanon, or guarding the doors warily. There was no sign of Mephala's priest, but Elam Andas saw me and crossed the room toward me. "Get him back to the Ministry," he snapped, and a few more Ordinators moved up to escort me outside. I ignored them, trying to see around Andas.

"The Archcanon?" I asked.

Andas' lip twisted. "Dead," he spat. "Poison on the blade. Took him before the healer could arrive." He glared at me, quivering with rage. "How did you know what he was doing, Sul? By the Three, if you _knew_ this was coming, I will execute you myself!"

I stared back at him, too overwhelmed and having survived too much to feel any fear. "I saw the knife," I said simply. "It was in my line of sight when he drew it. You couldn't have seen it."

He drew in a hissing breath, letting it out slowly between his teeth. I could almost taste the violence in the air, waiting for him to succumb and strike me. He dared not abuse a prisoner, though, not with so many witnesses nearby. "Move!" He growled at my escort, and they obeyed, pulling me from the room.

There was no crowd gathered outside, this time. I stumbled across the surface of the Temple Canton, too exhausted even to take in a last view of the sea and the sky. Something had happened, there was something different, and it was eating at me mercilessly but I couldn't puzzle it out. Only when I was shoved into my cell and managed to drop wearily onto my bedroll did I realize what had changed.

For the first time in months, I was free of Mephala's shadow on my soul.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

For many long days, which I judged by the frequency of the meals that were brought to me, I was left unaware of what was happening. The Inquisition acolyte who brought me my food and water would only say that an investigation was being held. Occasionally, through the wooden door of my cell, I could hear faint screams, and I knew that someone else was being interrogated at the mercy of the Grand Inquisitor.

Since I had nothing else to do, I spent most of my time in prayer. The lack of Mephala's tainted touch under my skin still seemed too good to be true, and I prayed fervently to the Tribunal that it would not return. The Three did not deign to speak to me, or grace me with a sense of their divine presence, but I found peace in the meditative trance, and emerged from it only when food or sleep called to me.

Perhaps two weeks after the hearing, my door opened to admit Elam Andas and an Inquisitor I didn't recognize. I stood slowly, wondering what was coming.

Andas came halfway into the cell and stopped, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm to inform you that you've been sentenced," he said flatly. "Endryn Llethan, the new Archcanon, has reviewed your confession, and the evidence given at your hearing. Taking your... attempt to save Tholer Saryoni's life into consideration--" his mouth twisted unhappily, "-- He has sentenced you to life imprisonment in the Ministry of Truth, and spared you from execution."

I nodded, almost disappointed. I had been hoping, with a grim sort of resolution, for a quick end to my time here, by one way or another. Execution would have been as good a method as any. "What has been happening?" I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

Andas' eyes narrowed. "A Writ for Saryoni was found on Hlaalu's body. A search of the Morag Tong headquarters that you told us about revealed nothing; it's been abandoned. But we found evidence in Saryoni's quarters that..." he grimaced, as if the words tasted unpleasant. "That he had approached the Guild about a Writ for Aroa Nethalen."

I rocked back a step as if he'd struck me. A coughing rasp echoed off the walls of the cell, and I almost didn't recognize it as my own laughter. "All that searching, for _weeks_ , because she had killed Nethalen at the _Archcanon's_ request..." My laughter died, and suddenly I wanted to weep. Amurah had died, ultimately, because she had taken that Writ. And I, foolishly, had tried to save Saryoni's life. "Who requested the Archcanon's death?"

Elam Andas scowled. "Someone who was aware of his corruption, no doubt, but we have no way of knowing. No one can find any of the Morag Tong who were known to be in Vivec. The Temples in Balmora, Ald-ruhn and Sadrith Mora report the same thing. They've all gone into hiding."

I had no reply to that; I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I was rid of Mephala's touch at last, and I bore no love for the Morag Tong... But I wasn't a part of the Tribunal Temple any longer, either, and a little spark of satisfaction flared within me, knowing that they had lost the trail they followed.

The Temple Curate took a step closer. "Is there any information you'd like to volunteer on their whereabouts, Sul?" He asked in a low voice. The light of my single candle glinted in his eyes. "Or shall I call for the Grand Inquisitor and have him force it from you?"

 _Nonononono!_ My mind screamed frantically. My body suddenly throbbed with remembered agony in a dozen places. I swallowed roughly, forcing down the panic that threatened to rise up and overwhelm me. "I've told you all I know of the Morag Tong," I told him, struggling to keep my voice calm. "I was simply their pawn, even more so than I was the Temple's, and they never entrusted me with any information that you might find useful."

Andas eyed me for a long, long moment. "I will determine that for myself," he said eventually. "Tomorrow." He glanced at the chains that still dangled from the ceiling, and smiled at me, a slow threat stretching his lips. "Sleep well."

He departed, the Inquisitor closing the door behind the two of them, and left me trembling where I stood. _I cannot_ , I thought, despairing, dropping to my knees and burying my face in my damaged hands. _Blessed Poet, please, after I have done everything to atone for my sins, after I have completed the task you set before me, have I not suffered enough?_ The Grand Inquisitor's cool, impassive face swam blurrily in my vision, and I shuddered uncontrollably. _I cannot survive another visit from_ him. _Please..._

There was no reply from Vivec, or the others of the Tribunal. I hadn't truly expected one. My panic ebbed away, slowly, to be replaced by a bleak calm. I raised my head and looked around my cell, knowing what I would see: my thin, stained bedroll, the pitcher and mug and empty plate, the chamber pot, and the chains in the ceiling. Nothing that I could use against myself, to spare myself the unending misery at the Grand Inquisitor's hands.

I let out a long, slow breath, thinking. I had no way to kill myself, but perhaps I could force them to kill me, instead...

 _Too weak_ , I reminded myself. _You'll never pose enough of a threat to make them resort to killing you._ I scowled at the ceramic pitcher, rejecting the half-formed idea. It was too fragile, would only shatter against their armor. The chain between my wrists rattled as I clenched my fists, and I stared down at it. A sudden vision flooded my mind, of looping the chain around Elam Andas' neck and twisting it, clinging with all my strength until the Inquisitor was forced to kill me or let Andas choke to death.

 _It might work_ , I thought. I wouldn't need much strength to do it properly; once the chain was in place, I needed only to hold it there long enough.

If nothing else, it gave me a sense of purpose, allowed me to take back a measure of control. It was something to try, something I could _do_ to affect my own fate. I rose to my feet and went to the door, settling myself in a crouch against the wall beside it. Andas would likely be the first to come through the door, and he was no fool. He would see the entire cell in one glance, and know there was only one place I could be hiding. I would have to move quickly.

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. I knew, with the calm certainty of a man awaiting his own death, that I would need to rest and hoard my strength for this last act of violence.

I jerked awake some hours later, my heart pounding in the darkness, unsure what had awakened me. I pressed my ear to the door, listening, and thought I heard a far-off shout. I frowned, then tensed at the sound of boots on the stone outside.

"Here," said a low, deathly-cold voice, one I recognized with a spasm of dread. I scrambled back from the door, rising into a crouch, hands raised and ready before me. The door swung open, and I leapt at the first glint of armor that entered. I had a moment to see that it was the Inquisitor himself, not Andas, who began to turn toward me in surprise, but my arms were already outstretched. I flung the short length of chain over his head and hauled back with all my strength, crossing my wrists to twist it and squeezing as hard as I could. The chain sank into his throat with a crackling sound, and he coughed, immediately flinging himself to the side. I was crushed between his armor and the wall, forcing the air from my lungs in a wheeze, but I held on desperately, waiting for someone to come to his aid with a killing blow to my skull.

Nothing happened, except that the Grand Inquisitor's struggles grew weaker, slowly. He beat at me ineffectually with his fists, unable to reach me. The old, familiar battle-elation surged over me, the rush of power that meant I held his life in my hands. I let my knees buckle, putting my full weight behind the makeshift garrote. The Inquisitor went down, nearly pitching me over his head, but I rammed a knee into his armored back. The force of the blow knocked him forward, and he fell face-first onto the ground, taking me with him. I had forgotten about trying to get myself killed, forgotten that I was still awaiting that fatal, unseen blow. The only thing that mattered was ensuring that the Grand Inquisitor's evils would never be repeated.

"No more," I snarled, while he clawed frantically at the chain, fingernails drawing bloody furrows in his own skin. I remembered every torment he'd inflicted on me, every finger he'd mutilated, every burn he'd seared into my skin. I remembered all of them, even the ones that lay buried in the nightmare depths of my memory, and I poured all of the helpless pain and fury they'd induced into a last, furious jerk of the chain. " _Never again._ "

He struck one hand against the floor in a hopeless attempt to roll over and break free, then went limp. I didn't relax, not trusting him; a few seconds later he gave a final, desperately weakened struggle, and then I felt him die beneath me.

Someone was watching me. Waiting for me to stand so they could execute me, no doubt. _At least I've taken the Inquisitor with me_. Slowly, I released my grip on the body and stood to meet my fate.

A Dunmer woman stood in the shaft of light that spilled through the doorway, with unruly brown curls and a scar that tracked a pale line across one cheek. Our eyes met with an old, familiar jolt, and I staggered back in shock. "Amurah...?"

She smiled and nodded, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. I shook my head, afraid to believe it. "You... I thought you were dead." I was trembling.

She walked forward, slowly. "I know," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Sul... I should have come sooner, but we weren't ready." She paused, just within reach, and I reached with unsteady hands to touch her. After the weeks of agony, her skin was like a cool stream of water under my battered fingers, washing away every torment that I had endured. She filled my senses as she always had, vibrant and real, not the hallucination I'd feared her to be. A knot of grief that had been tightened in my chest since Khuul suddenly loosened, and vanished altogether.

Amurah reached up to gently take my maimed fingers in her hand. "Gods, what have they done to you?"

I had never seen her cry before; it hadn't occurred to me that she _could_. But a tear slipped from one eye and left a glittering path down her cheek. "It doesn't matter," I told her. "You're _alive_." I kissed her, feeling a little like crying myself. She flung her arms around me; I caught her face in my hands, my chains dangling between us, and we stood like that for a long moment, content.

Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, startling us apart. Amurah glanced over her shoulder to the shadow in the door, and pulled away from me reluctantly. "We don't have much time," she said, kneeling beside the fallen Inquisitor. "Can you walk, if we get those off you?" She nodded at the chains that still hobbled my ankles.

"Well enough," I said, glancing at the door. "Amurah... I don't understand. How...?" I trailed off helplessly; there were too many questions to ask.

"The scroll of Recall," she said softly, rifling through the Inquisitor's armor. "I used it while they were busy loading you onto the ship. The Guild in Balmora healed me as well as they could, kept me hidden until I was recovered fully."

Understanding dawned, finally. "That's why Andas wouldn't reply when I asked about you," I realized. "I'd thought it meant you were dead, but... They didn't know where you were. And they didn't want me to know it." Anger followed the thought, blazing and furious.

Amurah pulled a ring of keys from the Grand Inquisitor's body and stood up. "The Guild has been divided since... since the Grandmaster's death," she continued, unlocking my manacles. "A few of us were able to break in, and get _him_ to show us where you were being held." She nodded toward the body as she knelt to free my ankles. "We weren't exactly expecting that sort of a welcome from you."

I glanced at the dead Inquisitor and shuddered. "He was coming back for more," I murmured. "I... I couldn't let him do it again. If you had come any later than you did..."

"Not much time, Sister," said a rough voice from the doorway. Amurah tossed my chains aside and stood up, a short steel dagger in her grip.

She pressed it into my hand, closing my stiffened fingers around the hilt. "We're here _now_ ," she said, pressing a brief, fierce kiss on my lips. "And we're getting you out of here. Stay between me and Rogdul; we might run into some more guards on the way out. We've got to hurry; they'll be changing watch shifts soon." She strode toward the door, and I followed more slowly, still not entirely convinced that I wasn't dreaming. _She's alive..._

A tall Orc that I recognized from the Morag Tong hall in the Arena was guarding the door, a huge axe slung against his shoulder. He nodded politely at me, opening his mouth to speak, and then a shout burst out from deeper in the prison. His head whipped around toward the sound, and Amurah tensed. “Let’s go,” she said in a low voice. “Rogdul, get moving.”

The Orc grunted and moved out from my cell, his weapon ready in his hands. I followed, and Amurah was a silent shadow behind me.

The knife was an unfamiliar shape in my hand, and I wish I could say that I made good use of it against the Inquisitors who had welcomed me in my early days at the prison… But when a group of four or five blocked our exit from the prison keep, I was of little help to the assassins, who darted ahead soundlessly to meet the Ordinators. Amurah fought with her short sword flashing in a fluid ease that I recognized, though she seemed a bit slower on her left side. Rogdul's axe swung with a heavier, more brutal strength, and the battle was over before I could do more than hurry a few steps closer.

Rogdul eased open the door to the outer tunnels of the Ministry and peered out, then nodded at Amurah. She motioned me through, and the three of us hurried on. We passed the bodies of several more Inquisitors, and each one sent a greater thrill of satisfaction through me. We saw no one else alive until we came to the exterior door through which I’d passed only three times.

Another assassin was waiting for us, a masked Dunmer with a bow in one hand and several tiny bottles in the other. "They're on their way up," he warned as we approached. "Someone escaped out the lower exit and sounded the alarm before Ulmesi could catch him. Grandmaster,” he added, with a polite nod to me.

I stared at him. “ _What?_ ”

“No time,” Amurah reminded me tersely. Shooting the masked assassin a warning glance, she took one of the bottles and handed it to me. “Drink.”

The slowfall potion tasted horrible, burning a fiery trail down my throat. I choked it down, eyes watering, while the others did the same. Grimacing, Amurah tossed her emptied bottle aside. "Go," she ordered, and the other two assassins slipped out the door. Shouts drifted in from below.

I caught her arm before she could follow them. "Amurah... Be careful. I can't lose you again."

An emotion shifted in her eyes, one I couldn't name. "You won't," she promised in a whisper. "Stay close."

I nodded, and we stepped out into a moonlight night. We were on the upper end of the catwalk that wrapped around the Ministry of Truth. Farther down the balcony, around the curve of the prison's surface, I could hear sounds of fighting, shouts and clashes of weapons. Rogdul's rough voice was raised in a fierce roar. From the Temple below, little flares of torches and flickers of levitation spells were rising in the darkness toward the prison. The surface of the canton was boiling with the dark shapes of Ordinators pouring out of the Halls of Justice and Wisdom.

Amurah went to the edge of the balcony and peered over the railing. "There goes our quiet escape into the night," she muttered, and turned back to me. "Sul, we have to--"

Behind her, Elam Andas reared up from the darkness, his upraised mace glinting in the moonlight. I seized Amurah's shoulder and shoved her aside, ducking under the swing of his weapon. He leapt over the railing, not bothering with a counterstroke of the mace, simply driving his shoulder into my chest and smashing me back against the wall. My head hit stone, sending fiery spears of pain down my neck. Stunned, I fumbled weakly against Andas as he fisted his left hand in my shirt and drew back his mace.

Amurah recovered her balance and lunged at him, catching the blow on her sword, a handsbreadth from my face. Snarling, Andas shoved me towards her, making her stumble back to avoid slicing into me. Still dazed from my blow to the head, I lost my balance and pitched over the rope that railed the edge of the catwalk. I had an instant's panic before I realized that the slowfall potion had taken effect. I had time to twist and make a desperate grab for the edge of the balcony with my empty left hand, struggling for a good grip with my shortened fingers while the rest of my body swung slowly down to dangle from the edge.

Elam Andas had pressed his advantage when Amurah stumbled. I looked up in time to see him land a solid blow on her left shoulder, making her wince. Grimacing, I managed to haul myself up high enough to hook my elbow over the edge. Reversing my grip on the knife, I made a backhanded swing and buried the blade in the back of his knee between the edges of his armor. He fell with a shout, the movement wrenching him off the knife and nearly forcing me off the edge of the catwalk. Amurah unleashed a powerful kick to the side of his head, strong enough to send him over the railing.

She began to crouch, holding out a hand to help me up, and then her eyes widened, looking past me. Andas' hand clamped around my ankle, and the sudden addition of his weight jerked me free of the balcony. Amurah spat a curse as the two of us fell away, then shouted for the other assassins who were still fighting on the catwalk. I caught a glimpse of her as she dove over the railing after us, before I twisted around, trying to shake Andas off my leg. Instead, I felt his other hand grip me just under my knee as he attempted to pull himself, hand over hand, up the length of my body. We fell, impossibly slowly, while I bent my knees, drawing him closer, and smashed my bare heel into his face. If I'd been less weakened by my time as a prisoner, it might have been enough to dislodge him; as it was, I only angered him.

"I will not let you escape justice, Sul!" He snarled, and then drove a gauntleted fist into my midsection. The pain made me double over, gasping, and put me almost face-to-face with him, close enough to see the sudden comprehension in his eyes as my knife flashed towards him in the moonlight. I plunged the blade hilt-deep into his temple, and he went limp, dropping away from me without a sound.

The slowfall potion chose that moment to wear out, and the wind suddenly rushed at me as I fell in the darkness. Instinctively, I curled myself into a ball, holding my breath and hoping desperately that I would land in water instead of on the Temple canton.

I hit the waves hard, hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. The water closed over my head and pressed around me, fluid, frigid darkness. I flailed about in a panic, not even knowing if I was upright in the water. Something bumped against my arm; Andas' lifeless body, perhaps. My lungs were burning by the time I surfaced, gasping and sputtering.

I was facing away from the Temple, and I struggled to turn myself around so I could see it. Torches still bobbed through the air, more Ordinators hurrying up to the Ministry; they didn't seem to have noticed my fall. Their shouted orders still drifted over the waves.

"Sul!" Amurah was calling me, her voice breathless with effort and worry. I tried to respond, and choked on a sudden inhalation of seawater instead.

"Here," I managed to croak, after coughing up a flood of water. "Over here." I picked out her silhouette, a low, dark shape against the reflection of the moons on the water.

"Can you swim?" She asked tersely. "We're to meet a ship at Ebonheart. It isn't far."

"I'll make it," I said determinedly, and glanced back at the Ministry. "What about the others?" My teeth were beginning to chatter in the aftermath of the struggle, and the near-freezing water.

"They'll be alright. They have their own means of escape planned. This way," she added, beginning to swim westward with long, even strokes. I followed as well as I could, refusing to acknowledge the exhaustion that was beginning to settle into my limbs. The cold and the exertion were taking their toll, however. By the time the lighted walls of the fortress at Ebonheart came into view, I could no longer feel my hands and feet, and my breath was coming in labored gasps.

"We're close," Amurah said, her voice shaky. She wasn't much better off than I, but she shot me a worried glance. I shook my head at her and kept going, gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering.

We reached the edge of the boat-landing, and Amurah clambered out of the water. I was too exhausted to do more than cling to the edge with nerveless fingers, and she had to help me up. A passing Imperial guard looked at us suspiciously; two Dunmer, one ragged and scarred, climbing out of the sea in the middle of the night, was doubtlessly an uncommon sight. Amurah ignored him, helping me stagger across the landing to the ship that waited on the far side.

My knees failed me once I set foot on the vessel, and Amurah stumbled under my weight, shouting for the shipmaster. I let her lower me to the deck, and sat shaking with cold, my knees drawn up against my chest, while several figures began bustling around the ship, making ready to sail.

Amurah returned with two mugs of steaming liquid, and crouched at my side. "Here," she said. "Hot brandy. You need the heat." I took it gratefully, my hands shaking so badly that the drink slopped over the side of the mug. It was scaldingly hot, and I felt better instantly.

A shadow fell over me as the ship began to ease away from the dock, its sails billowing with wind. I looked up to see the scarlet-robed priest of Mephala standing beside me.

"It is finished," he said, with a quiet smile. "You've done well, Sul Daerys."

I stared at him. "This... _everything_... it was all about Hlaalu? Killing _him_?"

The priest glanced at Amurah. "Not _everything_. But that was the general intent of Mephala's plans, yes. Eno had become corrupted by his work, taking Writs for money rather than to honor the Daedra. He was a knot in the Spider's web, one that the god wanted removed."

" _Why?_ Why me? Couldn't any of the Guild have...?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Mephala wanted _you_ to succeed Hlaalu, Sul. For that to take place, the Grandmaster had to die at your hand."

Stunned, I looked from him to Amurah, the mug of brandy forgotten. Amurah nodded gently. "You took his position for yourself when you killed him," she said. "That's the way it works. Not everyone in the Guild will accept you; a Grandmaster has never been succeeded by one so low-ranking, and a lot of assassins don't think you truly deserve it. We've been divided against each other since it happened. But those of us who adhere to tradition will follow _you_ , Sul."

I shook my head in disbelief. "That's..."

"You need not keep the position," the priest said. "You can step down, and bestow it to whomever you deem fit. But the Webspinner _and_ the Poet have seen something in you that pleases them, and they chose you with good reason." He nodded at Amurah. "The Sister has told me something of your... disagreements with the Guild's methods. This is an opportunity for you to bring changes to the Morag Tong."

A realization fell into place, and understanding was a sudden flash of clarity behind my vision. It was a guess, but I could see the truth of it in his eyes even as I spoke. " _You_ requested the Writ for Saryoni's death."

The priest nodded once, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yes. I told Hlaalu that it was the Spider's wish."

Something in his voice made my mind fill in what he _didn't_ say. "But it was Vivec who spoke to you? Not Mephala?"

His expression hardened, though he spoke as calmly as before. "I do not abuse my position as the Webspinner's servant," he said. "I did her bidding. But I did not tell Hlaalu that it was _also_ Vivec's wish."

"Mephala _and_ Vivec? How can you know that?"

The priest raised his eyebrows. "Is Mephala not the Anticipation of Vivec? It is not so hard to believe that their purposes could overlap. You are proof of that yourself."

Overwhelmed, I sat wordlessly for a long moment. Amurah found my hand and squeezed it, and I took comfort in the knowledge that she was at my side. "Why?" I asked finally.

The priest gave a minute shrug, his enigmatic smile widening. "Vivec took pity on you. Perhaps he could see that you were unsuited to life in his service, no matter how you desired it. You remained devoted to the Tribunal, even when Mephala chose to weave you into her web, and he wanted the best for you."

I stared down at my hands, scarred and disfigured, one wrapped in Amurah's fingers and one clenching the mug of brandy. I wondered how my time in the Ministry of Truth, at the mercy of his own servants, was the _best_ Vivec could provide for me. I began to tremble again, overcome by the cold and a storm of emotions I could not name. I slumped sideways, my vision darkening, and felt Amurah catch me before exhaustion claimed me.

\----

I awoke later, almost uncomfortably warm, buried beneath a pile of blankets with my arms wrapped around Amurah. Afraid to move and destroy the illusion, find myself back in my cell, I simply lay there listening to her breathe. We were in the tiny cabin on the upper deck of the ship, crowded together into a narrow hammock that rocked gently with the vessel's motion. A single lantern was lit, glinting off a pile of Amurah's weapons against one wall. I had been stripped of my wet clothing, and Amurah and I were both nude beneath the blankets, warming each other through the contact of skin against skin.

She stirred in my arms, and I held my breath, waiting for this dream to evaporate into the pained reality of my prison cell. She opened her eyes, gazing at me wordlessly, and slowly I began to believe that I truly wasn't dreaming.

"Feeling better?" She murmured with a smile.

I raised a hand to stroke her cheek. "Amurah...I thought you'd died. I..." My voice broke as the memory of that vast grief filled me, finally diminishing by the realization that she was _alive_. "Tell me what happened."

She did, explaining in a low voice how the Ordinators had been occupied with the care of their own wounded, leaving her for dead; how it had given her the chance to use the Recall scroll she’d brought with her to Khuul. She'd arrived at the Morag Tong in Balmora nearly unconscious, but they'd recognized her and healed her, kept her hidden in the boarded-up home of a deceased Guildmember until she'd recovered fully. She'd arrived in Vivec just a day after my hearing, when the city was buzzing with the news and the Guild was reeling from the death of their leader. When she managed to make contact with the assassins who'd gone into hiding, she had convinced some of them, those who believed I was indeed the rightful Grandmaster, to help rescue me from the Ministry.

I couldn't stop myself from touching her while she told her story, as if my hands needed the tactile reassurance of her presence. I needed to know that every inch of her was alive and well. I found the two scars on her stomach: fierce, puckered patches of skin where the crossbow bolts had sunk into her flesh. They were healed, though, and didn't seem to pain her. She did the same to me while she spoke, graceful fingertips tracing all my accumulated scars. When she fell silent, I leaned forward to kiss her gently.

"Do you want to talk about..." She moved a hand to a circular burn scar on my chest, not quite touching it.

I closed my eyes and drew a shallow breath. Memories of anguish intruded sharply, and I shoved them away. They didn't belong here. The only thing that mattered now was that Amurah was in my arms, alive, and we were free. I wouldn't mar this moment by giving the memories a voice.

"No," I whispered hoarsely. "Not yet."

Amurah nodded. Tears were a faint glimmer under her lashes. "I'll be here. When you're ready."

"I know you will." I kissed her again, long and slow. "And it's more than I dared to hope for."

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

The outlander entered the bar like all the others did, in a great bluster of cold, wintry air, a flurry of snow stomped from boots, and a long string of grumbles about the weather. Silently, I watched him approach, noting the richness of the clothes he was wearing: fine enough to be easily ruined if they were soaked with snow. Conversation faltered briefly as the bar's other patrons looked up, then resumed as the newcomer was dismissed.

He sat down at the bar and shoved back his hood, revealing a rather plump Imperial face. "A glass of flin, please," he said. "And I was told I could inquire here about the Assassin's Guild?"

Without glancing toward my end of the bar, Alcedonia set his drink in front of him. "Need someone dead, do you?"

The Imperial grunted, downed the flin in one long swig, and gestured for another. "Aye. Prepared to pay handsomely, too. I hear the Guild's expensive."

Alcedonia turned toward me briefly as she got him a refill, the fall of her red hair hiding the secretive smirk she directed towards me. I fought down an answering smile, turning my attention back to my meal instead.

"You may find it difficult to persuade the Morag Tong to take the commission on the strength of your gold alone, outlander," she said, as he sipped more slowly at his second glass. "Their Grandmaster is a lot more particular about the Writs he issues, nowadays."

The Imperial frowned. "Particular how?"

Alcedonia lifted a shoulder, unconcerned. "From what I hear, he's just as likely to accept a commission from a beggar as a nobleman. It's not the money, but the _reason_ that matters."

"Hmmph. And who decides whether a request is worthy? This Grandmaster fellow?"

The bartender shrugged again. "They say he prays about it, to Mephala. Only issues Writs when the Daedra approves it. But I'm sure you'll find out for yourself. If I see any of the Guild, I'll tell them about your interest, but it could be a few days before they contact you. We have rooms available to rent, while you're in town..."

I pushed myself away from the bar, dropping a few coins next to my empty plate. "Good day, sera," I murmured, leaving her to haggle with the outlander over the price of a night's stay.

Outside, the late afternoon glare of sunlight on snow was nearly blinding. The breeze was bitingly cold, but I didn't have far to go. Squinting, I buried my nose in the collar of my cloak and hurried through the loose cluster of buildings that made up the settlement of Raven Rock. Snow crunched underfoot, still a strange sensation, even months after we'd arrived in Solstheim.

Amurah was waiting in the main room of the modest cabin we called home, leaning against the table and cleaning one of her blades in the firelight. She smiled when I entered, and set the weapon aside, turning to face me as I hung up my cloak.

"We may have another one," I told her. "I'll let Alcedonia earn some money off him for a few days before we contact him. How was the assignment at Frostmoth?"

Amurah smiled. "He died well. No fear in him. I missed you, Sul."

I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms. "Even two days is far too long," I agreed, and kissed her. Her eyes were sparkling when we parted. "Perhaps we can carry out the next Writ together."

She raised an eyebrow. "The Guild doesn't generally work in pairs, _Grandmaster_ ," she said, with a grin.

"The Guild is doing a lot of things it hasn't generally done before, assassin," I teased back gently. "And you and I have worked together on Writs before."

"True," she admitted, leaning against my chest. I held her tightly, inhaling her scent of soap and well-worn leather armor, content as always to simply relish the fact that she was alive in my arms. I gazed around at the home we'd made together: Amurah's collection of blades on the wall, the stores of food stacked neatly in the corner beside the fireplace. The books I'd amassed formed a small library under the staircase; my copy of _The Anticipations_ lay out on the table, open where I'd left it. Upstairs was our bedroom, our sanctuary.

At one end of the main room was the door to the tiny shrine that Mephala's priest had helped us dedicate. I spent a lot of time there, in prayer. Mephala no longer spoke to me quite as clearly as she once had, but I asked the Spider for guidance whenever the Guild was approached with the opportunity for a Writ. Unless I felt the Daedra's touch beneath my skin, in the brief, feather-light nudge that I had learned to recognize as approval, I issued no Writs for my assassins. The colonization of the island was only just beginning, and few assassination requests were made; I refused more than I granted. Not many Guildmembers had elected to follow us to Solstheim, and they often grumbled about the infrequent work, but not very seriously. They knew that I had been chosen by both Mephala _and_ Vivec; the return of the Morag Tong to its rightful place as an _honorable_ Guild was hardly something over which they could complain.

Amurah leaned back to smile at me. "Hmmm... Two assassins, in love, spreading the shadows of the Morag Tong through Solstheim in tandem rather than apart?" She mused softly. "I think I'd like that."

I grinned and bent down to sweep her into my arms, and she let out a breathless laugh. I pressed a kiss to her forehead and headed for the staircase. "So would I."

 

 


End file.
